The Divine and the Damned
by TheMourningMadam
Summary: Draco's world came crashing down when he lost what he loved above all else in this world: his witch. An obliviation story. THIS STORY IS ABANDONED AS OF 1 April 2020 AND WILL NO LONGER SERVE AS THE SEQUEL TO THE PRINCESS AND THE PARIAH. IT IS INCOMPLETE SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. IT WILL NEVER BE FINISHED.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story is dedicated in its entirety to **caprubia**. She saved our favorite couple from certain death (I'll let you in on a secret—I was going to Romeo and Juliet them at the end of _Pariah_ and let their deaths be the punctuation of this tale). She spent countless hours with me, listening to my crazy ideas for this story, offering helpful advice and ways to tweak the story to make it better. She knows this story probably better than I do, at this point. This story starts rough—very rough. It's painful. But it does move into that classic _Princess and Pariah_ sweetness we've all grown to love, and Draco will get that wedding in the vineyard I've promised for so long. If there is one thing I can say about this third part, it is **nothing is as it seems**.

 _ **"And when the tempests rage,**_

 _ **And all the Oceans roar, at your door,**_

 _ **I could be your man,**_

 _ **But I'd be that much more,**_

 _ **And more."**_

 _ **~"I'll Be Your Girl" by the Decemberists**_

Chapter 1:

" _What's the password, Draco?" Hermione Granger purred as she climbed on all fours into a massive pile of blankets, spanning from one side of Draco Malfoy's private room at Hogwarts to the other._

" _I'm not saying the password in my own room, Granger," Draco teased, crawling in after her and climbing over where she had flopped onto her back._

" _But I built this blanket fort just for you," she smiled up at him and he leaned down on both forearms and stared down at her in complete reverence._

 _With a wave of his hand, the blankets hanging overhead dropped across the entryway like the flaps of a tent and they were enclosed in darkness, only twinkling fairy lights illuminating the space. In the soft, romantic lighting, his witch looked radiant. Draco moved one of his hands to wind a curl around his finger. He swiped his other thumb lightly over her forehead, pushing her hair away from her face. "Let's just stay here forever, Draco."_

" _I would die a happy man, Granger, if I spent my last minutes here on earth with you," he replied, dipping his head to kiss her sweetly._

 _Hermione wound her arms around his neck and held him close, dragging her lips across his cheek to whisper in his ear. "I love you, Draco Malfoy."_

Draco Malfoy felt his eyelids begin to flutter as he awoke. He had not even realized that he had fallen asleep, but the sweet dream of his witch was a welcome reprieve in the nightmare his life had become. The wizard was quite certain he was experiencing a slow, agonizing death. It was the only explanation for the choking, oppressive feeling clenching his heart. Heartache—true, blinding anguish that tore through his chest as though his heart was being ripped out at a painfully slow rate. His stomach was in absolute knots and he had to keep his teeth clenched tightly so that he would not vomit from the nervous desperation he was feeling. He was dying from a broken heart—it was the only logical reasoning for how wretched he was feeling.

He had lost Hermione before he ever truly had her. She had spent her time on the lam, hunting Horcruxes, watching scenes of Draco and their life together. With the War behind them, they had come together so naturally upon their return to Hogwarts. Hermione was fierce, and she had fought like hell to save him—from his own torrential onslaught of negative thoughts, from the ridicule and physical abuse of other students, from the adverse public opinion of him and _them_. He had fallen in love with her simplicity and how she found joy in the small things—a blanket fort, cloud-watching, dancing foolishly when it was just the two of them, how a bit of cinnamon in her tea brought a smile to her lips. Draco had proposed to his love over their spring holiday and he had meant every word he had said to her: all he wanted in life was to spend every moment of every day of the rest of his life just loving her. And now, some selfish and horrid individual had taken her from him—stripped her memories of their life, their love and their future from her.

Draco was still being held for observations at St. Mungo's, though he showed absolutely no signs of memory loss. _This is all my fault._ The negative thoughts filled his mind and clouded his rationale as he lay completely still, staring at the white ceiling. His mother had been banished from the room, her incessant fluttering and chattering driving him even closer to the edge of madness.

Draco lay on his back, afraid that if he rolled to one side he would expel bile and the chicken broth the medi-witch had insisted he drink earlier that morning. Three harrowing, woeful days of staying in this grotesquely cheery and bright room, knowing the curly-haired witch— _his_ witch—was only a few doors down the hall. Three days since they had been attacked by an unknown assailant and his world had been turned to shit.

Hermione had undergone extensive questioning upon waking, and Potter and Weasley had come in to inform him that the last event she remembered was attending Dumbledore's funeral. She had no recollection of her whirlwind relationship with Draco. In fact, upon hearing of their union and engagement, Hermione had requested that both he and his mother be barred from her room, as she needed some space to process it all. Draco had gotten word just the day before that she had suffered a complete breakdown and asked everyone to let her be—Potter, Weasley and her parents included. He just wanted to go to her, hold her as he had over the last year, kiss her and tell her everything would be okay—he'd find a way.

Tears streamed from his eyes, soaking his pillow on either side of his head. His face was raw from the constant rivulets and swipes to clear them. His Mark, which had faded to the faintest light pink scar by this point, was having phantom pains and he felt venom running through his arm though he was certain it was all in his head, a nasty side effect of his life's horrid choices.

It was his fault this had happened to Hermione. He should have been stronger the previous autumn and told her he could not court her. He should have left Hogwarts, England, this plane of existence. Anything to have saved her the painful prodding of her mind, the loss of years of her life, the confusion and misery she was likely experiencing.

But, Merlin, did he fucking _miss_ her. Her magic coursed through the watch she had gifted him for Christmas, as strong as ever though she was blissfully unaware of the token. It was the only thing that brought Draco comfort as he lay wide awake in his bed at night, running a hand over the bruised and battered heart that rest within its cage. Every minute of the day was consumed with self-deprecation coupled with the fierce desire to see her, just to lay eyes on her, to run his hand over her mass of curls or kiss her forehead.

Draco had Healer Hobbs on the case, trying to reach into the depths of Hermione's brain to find the lost memories. So far, he had been unsuccessful, but he tried to reassure Draco daily that the task was not impossible, merely a tricky riddle to be solved. All the wizard wanted was to be able to see her and hold her once more, for her to remember the love that had blossomed and grown between them in the last year.

That ever-present desire to be remembered battled with the darker, undesirable thought that she would almost be better off if she never regained all of her memories. Sure, there would be a gap in her timeline, one she would likely wish to know. But everything that had happened in the first year of those two years she had lost had been difficult and at times, absolutely horrific.

If he had the option of going back in time and losing the memories of the War, the stench of lingering dark magic and carnage of innocents within the hallowed walls of Hogwarts, he knew he would be tempted. The nightmares would be gone, the pain and shame he felt at the choices he had made in life. He wished it were him, but he knew, perhaps, he should be grateful that she had lost _those_ memories. Hermione would not remember the horrors of watching her friends fall; of watching Potter fight the Dark Lord; of being nearly starved to death on the run; of being tortured by his aunt on the floor of his home.

But, with losing the memories of the War, she also lost memories of watching him in her scrying mirror; of the way they interacted; how he had done his best to ease her pain when his aunt was atop her; of the Room of Requirement when he had pushed her out of harm's way. She would not remember serving detention with him for sprouting horns on Parkinson's head; any of the scenes of their future together with Rosie and baby Scorpius; the night they had spent in the blanket fort; watching the clouds and the stars together; his proposal—so carefully planned; the Quidditch game where she had first told him she loved him. All of the memories that were once the most magnificent pieces of his life were suddenly the most caustic.

There was a knock at the door and Potter's head peered into the room. "Malfoy, can I come in?" he asked, awkwardly rubbing his neck and gesturing to the chair by Draco's bedside.

"You already have," Draco pointed out needlessly. "Have there been any changes? Will she see me yet?"

The blond sat up easily and cursed himself for the hopeful feeling he got upon seeing his long-time rival. Potter sighed and sat in the chair next to him, running his sweaty palms along his jeans. He set a bag next to his feet. "It's worse than we thought. The Healer—the one who brought her parents back—he'll be in shortly to talk to you. I just wanted to intervene first. And no, she's not ready to see you just yet."

Draco could feel that hopeful bubble that had swelled in his chest deflate with the gusto of a breath of wind. "When is she going to be ready?"

"You need to give her some time, Malfoy. She is having a hard time grasping everything that has happened since Dumbledore's funeral. She told me this morning that she feels as though she betrayed Ron in getting with you—"

"Are you fucking serious? What has he been telling her?" Draco demanded, feeling the last remnants of his sanity shredding to bits. "I will fucking murder him, Potter. I will fucking rip his stupid ginger locks out a clump at a time and shove them down his throat—"

Potter put a hand up and stopped his speaking. "Ron explained right off how they fell apart and that he is getting ready to propose to Alicia Spinnet. He has tried to explain time and again over the last three days how in love the two of you are. It's hard for her to process, considering she still believes you to be a Death Eater."

"Hermione told me that she had harbored secret feelings deep within long before sixth year's fiasco of a finale."

"She's admitted that to Ron and me as well. So, deep down, she knows there is something there and that we are telling her the truth. But, Malfoy, it's just difficult for her to wrap her seventeen-year-old mind around."

Draco did not know how much more he could take of this separation from his witch. He was beginning to go stir crazy in the bed with no one but his nagging mother to keep him company. The knowledge that she was only meters from him but steadfastly refusing to see him was sheer agony. "And Hobbs says there's nothing they can do for her?" he asked, feeling as though the melancholy was choking the life out of him.

Potter was silent a moment and shrugged slightly. "He's trying to be optimistic, but it's not looking good," the raven-haired wizard replied, staring anywhere but at Draco. "He can better explain exactly what he's found, but it's like the memories just aren't there for the Healers to retrieve."

Never in his life had Draco felt so despondent and utterly helpless. Potter seemed to be growing ever more awkward as they sat in silence, each contemplating Hermione's condition. "Potter," Draco's voice was thick with emotion and full of raw desperation, "How am I supposed to make her remember?"

Potter trained his emerald eyes on him and shook his head slowly. "I'm not so sure you can."

Draco's hand went around his own throat, trying to ease the aching as he fought back tears. "So, I should just move on, is what you're saying."

Potter shook his head adamantly. "I know what you're probably thinking—that she would be better off without you. But, honestly, as much as it pains me to say this," a slight grin came across his old rival's face, "You are the best thing that has happened to Hermione. She was truly happy with you. I think you could make her fall in love with you all over again."

"She thinks I'm a Death Eater!"

"Hermione is a logical witch who is able to deductively reason through things. As I understand it, you are persuasive when you want to be and there's _something_ about you that she found appealing. She just needs some time to think and she will see you when she is ready. We're talking about the witch who ignored Ron for a good portion of sixth year because of his fraternizations with Lavender. But Hermione will come around—curiosity will get the best of her, if nothing else," Potter said with a small laugh.

That statement alone made Draco smile a slight upturn of the lips. That was certainly the truth—Hermione's curiosity is what led her to continue scrying to see him, what led her to try and befriend him in the beginning of their eighth year.

"The possibility of me getting her to love me once more feels more like an impossibility."

"What the hell did I just say to you? You're _good_ for her, so you'd better _try_ ," Potter told him, rising when the door to the room opened.

Draco felt both a gratitude toward the wizard and a feeling of desperation as he left the room and Healer Hobbs came in. The Healer was wearing a kind smile, but Draco was perceptive enough to pick up on the underlying stress written in the wrinkling of his brow. "Potter tells me you can't do anything."

The Healer's smile fell slightly, and he gave Draco a pitying look. "We've studied Miss Granger's mind quite a bit since she arrived. With a typical obliviation, the memories still exist—they're merely locked away for future retrieval. In Miss Granger's case, it's like someone poured acid into her mind and it ate away holes in her timeline completely."

"What does that mean? You can't retrieve them at all?" Draco questioned, once again feeling as though he were going to vomit.

Hobbs refused to meet Draco's eye as he said, "We're doing the best that we can. I've got the entire team researching this—it's unlike anything we've ever seen."

"I will give you every last knut in my vault if you bring her back to me," Draco vowed, looking at the medical professional desperately.

"I'm not sure if it's possible, Draco. But I can assure you that we are trying to do everything that we can," the Healer told him.

"So, she remembers nothing from the last two years? You saw nothing in her mind at all?"

Hobbs leaned back against Draco's side table and frowned. "We can see little fragments like there should be a memory there, but it's no more than a familiarity with a sound or sight. I do not think she will remember enough about the last two years to recall your relationship. But she may remember simple things, like your scent. Things that will confuse her, if they spark a familiarity."

Damn it all to hell, the Healers words began to sprout hope within Draco. Hobbs shook his head slowly and sighed. "Don't get too excited just yet. When you come into contact with her, these glimmers may be few and far between, if they ever fully manifest."

"But there's a chance that, even if she doesn't remember _me_ , her own mind could assist me in bringing her back," Draco argued, sitting up in his bed and swinging his legs over.

"The possibility is small, Draco. Incredibly so," Hobbs countered. "Where are you going?"

"You've run every damn test on me imaginable. There is nothing wrong with me. Our attacker used a simple fainting spell on me, nothing more," Draco told him, pulling on his trousers under the hospital gown.

"I cannot allow you to go into Miss Granger's room until she has specified she is ready to see you."

"This is preposterous. If I could see her, speak to her with sincerity—she would know I am not the scared Death Eater she remembers me to be!" Draco argued, trying to push the Healer aside to walk through the door.

"Mister Malfoy, you are not going into Hermione's room and that is final. I can have an auror escort you out if it comes to it. Now, I understand you are upset and frustrated—but you are acting like a madman!" Hobbs reprimanded.

Merlin help him, Draco was beginning to _feel_ mad. His witch was mere meters away from him at this very moment, had been for _three very long days_. There was the possibility that Draco could slowly bring her back to him through glimmers of their life together, supplied by her own mind. If he could only get _to_ her, he could hold her hand and she could try to See their life together.

Draco clutched either side of his head, wishing the Healer would leave so he could scream aloud, so he could smash everything in this room to pieces. He wanted to wail and mourn his loss and he wanted to hex every single person that stood between him and Hermione. He needed to get out. He needed fresh air to fill his lungs and he needed to get away from the hospital. If he stayed, he was likely to do something rash and completely ludicrous, likely ending with a stint in Azkaban.

He snatched the bag Potter had left on the floor, filled with the books he and Hermione had purchased in Diagon Alley, and retrieved his wand from the bedside table. The Healer appeared to be saying something to him, but Draco could not hear anything over the ringing in his ears. Hobbs stood with his hands up to try and stop the blond wizard and Draco pointed his wand between the Healer's eyes. "I'm leaving this fucking hospital."

He stormed out of the room, passing his mother who was trailing after him, screeching something he couldn't quite make out. He kept going, past the Weasleys all sitting in the waiting room, past the orphanage he had tried so desperately to replace, through the atrium, ignoring everyone's stares.

He was out in the overcast London streets within minutes and strode quickly to the apparition point. Posters were plastered all over the lamp posts, charmed to keep Muggles from seeing. He and Hermione's faces flashed, both looking happy as could be. _REWARD OFFERED._ There was a reward being offered—likely by his mother—for any details in their attack. As he neared the apparition point, he saw a stand displaying the _Daily Prophet._ The headline across the top read, " _ATTACKS ON FORMER DEATH EATERS CONTINUE—CASUALTIES CLAIMED ONCE MORE."_

A heart attack seemed imminent as he read and reread that headline to himself. All around, other witches and wizards looking to apparate were staring at him curiously. Some looked upon him with pity and some with contempt. He could not breathe, could not draw breath into his lungs any longer. All Draco wanted was to go home, to _their_ home in Hogsmeade. Maybe if he surrounded himself with her, could feel her presence in more than just the watch, could smell her sweet cinnamon scent, could get to the memory chest and be _with_ her for a while, the terrifying constricting in his chest would ebb.

The blond landed in their sitting room and tossed the bag toward the couch. It landed behind the furniture with a loud thud and he neither cared or went to retrieve it. Draco immediately blocked the floo and strengthened the wards to accept no visitors, should his mother try to find him here. When he was finished blocking out the world he collapsed onto the edge of the couch and looked around. They had not lived together in this home long, but every inch of it was already seeped in _Hermione_. Her little touches, books she had been reading lain on the coffee table, her scent lingering on every inch of the house.

A sob prickled up his throat, constricting his airways once more and the entire weight and severity of the circumstances bore down on him tenfold. His wailing reverberated off the walls, trembling his bones and choking the life-giving air from his lungs once more. His hands slid into his hair as he dropped his elbows to his knees, bending forward in a crumpled mess. His fingers pulled and tugged painfully at his hair and he was once again reminded that every fiber of his entire being was throbbing with the pain of losing his witch.

The loathsome thoughts tried continuously to creep back in and he was steadily breaking down as his world crumpled completely around him. He had not thought about leaving her now, running away and leaving her to live a better life without him. But Potter had _assumed_ he would do just that. And that fucking headline on the cover of the _Prophet._ It was his fault this had happened. His past was coming back to haunt him, full force.

 _What if I left her alone? What if her life is better without me? She could walk down the street without being attacked or being spit on or called a 'Death Eater's whore.' She wouldn't have to worry if her husband will be attacked. She wouldn't have painful reminders of a War she can't recall fighting, but that left scars all over her body._

There was an absolute tempest raging within him, a tumultuous mixture of needing to see her so badly that his entire body ached with a vibrating pain and of wanting to run far away, to leave her and ensure that the new start she had been given would be fruitful and she could live the best life possible—one where she did not get attacked simply walking down the street. All of the clashing and warring emotions and thoughts were clouding his brain and filling him with an insanity that threatened to destroy him.

Draco felt something soft against his leg and through tear-bleary eyes, he saw Hermione's kneazle. The animal was brushing up against his trousers, purring affectionately. The kneazle had grown to be fond of Draco in the time that he had known him, and Hermione had always told him that Crookshanks was more perceptive than most humans. Draco had always considered that just pish posh until he looked into the animals large, brown eyes. It was as though the animal could see into Draco's soul and the blond lowered his hand to run over his thick orange coat. He swiped his tears away with his free hand and stood. "Are you hungry, Crooks?" he questioned, only now remembering that the animal had been alone for days.

He ambled slowly to the kitchen, dreading seeing Hermione's eclectic collection of teacups and the giant apothecary jar of cinnamon sticks he had put next to the sink just for her. Lighting the candles of the chandelier over the kitchen island, he noted that Crookshanks had torn his entire bag of food open and strewn it about the floor. "What in the hell, Crooks?" Draco chided lightly, retrieving the hand broom from the cupboard.

Draco bent to clean the mess by hand and was nearly done when something white caught his eye under the raised island. He tried to reach it, but his watch caught and kept his hand from sliding under. He pulled his wand from his back pocket and used the end to slide the item towards himself, finally pulling it free.

The wizard collapsed onto his haunches, his back hitting the kitchen island with a resounding _thud!_ In between his fingers, he held the silky feather of a white peacock. Draco ran the feather over his cheek, recalling the strange sensation he had felt the night he fed the peacocks, now knowing it had been Hermione's presence all along. Their life together had truly begun the night she had first seen him in her scrying mirror.

Before Hermione had come into his life, Draco had hardly believed in whimsical notions, like fate or soulmates. But as he felt the softness of the feather, which smelled faintly of cinnamon and vanilla, somehow, he knew it symbolized a major shift in the world around him, how he was to navigate each day, how he would bring his witch back to him.

His life with Hermione had begun with an innocent, white bird and it was coming back full circle with this feather. Had she taken it that night—a memento of her strange encounter with her longtime foe? He was unsure of what exactly it meant, how it had come to be under the island in the first place. Draco looked at Crookshanks, who wrapped his tail smugly around his legs and stared with glittering eyes and could not shake the feeling that the kneazle was once again looking right through him.

o-o-o

A/N: You all were amazing at reading and reviewing _Pariah_. I have bellyached over this part for literal _months_ now, so I would love to hear what you think. Stick with me—the dark times that lie ahead spark a beautiful fight on Draco's part to reclaim his witch and bring her back to him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: Thank you for the lovely response this last chapter. I must admit, I had a very angsty outline detailed for this story for about, I don't know, four or five months or so. Well…I decided I needed to overhaul it completely and make it less angsty and more sweet. I realize there is still angst, obviously, but trust me when I say, not near as much as I had originally planned. Hermione's curiosity will get the better of her sooner than I had planned—trust me on this. All foreshadowing still applies. A huge thank you goes out to_ _ **Caprubia**_ _, yet again, for listening to my insanity time and again._

Chapter 2:

Draco had been pacing the waiting room at St. Mungo's for, what felt like, days. A glance at the floor and he was honestly surprised to find that he had not carved his path out beneath him. His mother had finally returned to France to be with Alya and had argued with him about heading home with her. But he refused—refused to leave his witch until he knew she was completely safe.

Potter stepped off the lift, carrying two take away cups of the strongest coffee he had been able to find in Muggle London. He handed one to Draco, the same pitying grievance on his face that he reserved for the blond alone. "Here, drink this. If you aren't going to sleep, there's only so far a pepper-up can bring you before caffeine is needed."

Draco stopped pacing long enough to take a deep swig, wincing at the way the liquid nearly scalded his throat on the way down. It was vile—he had never been one for coffee—but it was the first thing he had ate or drank besides broth in days. "We've got the entire team out searching and interrogating," the raven-haired wizard mentioned, collapsing into one of the uncomfortable chairs while Draco continued on his path.

"Nothing? Nothing at all? We were attacked, in broad daylight, on a busy street, and there is not one witness?" Draco questioned unnecessarily, knowing that Potter was just as distraught over his best friend's attack.

Potter took a sip of his coffee and shook his head slowly, relaxing back into the chair. "No. It's almost as if there wasn't a soul around you. Do you remember seeing anyone in particular?"

Draco knitted his brow, trying to wrack his brain. No one stood out as any different than the others. He tried to picture himself and Hermione as they left the bookshop and made their way toward the ice cream shop, but he couldn't clearly see a single face in their direct vicinity. He wondered if the street _had_ been deserted. He cursed himself for not being more observant, more vigilant. Potter seemed to sense his mood shifting to a guilty self-deprecation and stood to face Draco and make him stop in his endless quest from one side of the room to the other. "Malfoy, this is not your fault. You cannot blame yourself."

"How can you even say that, Potter? I'm the one who joined the Death Eaters. I'm the one who gave into Hermione's persistent advancements—solely because I was lonely and defeated and she was the most beautiful and brilliant person I had ever met. I was selfish then. I should have paid better attention when we were out, I allowed myself to become too lax!"

There was the sound of a throat clearing next to them, breaking Draco from his tirade. He and Potter both looked over to find a sheepish looking Ron Weasley, standing awkwardly with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. "Malfoy, Hermione would like to speak with you."

Draco felt his heart sputter to a stop and then kickstart into overdrive. The blood began rushing to his face and crashing like the waves of the ocean behind his eardrums. His feet, so active in creating a track across the waiting room, seemed to have planted themselves to the floor now. She wanted to see him. _She wanted to see him._ He felt a nudge from behind and Potter gave him an encouraging nod. "This is what you've been waiting for, why you're still here, isn't it?" he questioned, looking slightly concerned for Draco's mentality.

The blond seemed to realize in that precise moment that he was not physically moving, though he felt as though he had already been carried away with an invisible current. "Malfoy?" Weasley asked, raising a ginger eyebrow. "Are you going to see her? She's been discharged—"

That was all Draco needed to hear and his feet were carrying him without another hesitance. When he got outside of her door, he drew in a breath so deep it felt as though it singed his lungs and then exhaled as he tapped lightly on the door. "Come in!" _Sweet Merlin. To hear that voice again._

His relief at hearing her was short lived. As he entered the room and closed the door behind himself, she eyed the closed door with a frown. _She doesn't trust you._ Draco wanted nothing more than to rush to her side, to scoop her into his arms and kiss her and tell her how much she meant to him. But the witch—his witch—was eyeing him like the weary gazelle watches steadfast as a lion approaches. "Hey," he finally breathed out, his voice unsteady.

He leaned against the closed door for support, staring at the love of his life as she eyed him with curiosity and reluctance. "Hi," she replied after a long moment, raising one corner of her mouth in an attempt at a smile.

"Weasley says you wanted to speak with me?" Draco felt as though the air passing over his vocal cords and formulating words was not his own voice.

There was a disconnect between what was taking place and what he was saying. He sounded far too calm for the inner turmoil he was feeling. He hadn't dropped to his knees and professed his undying love and dedication to her yet, a miracle in itself. "Ron has been saying a lot to me these last few days," she conceded, drawing her lip between her teeth. "Why don't you come over and sit? You're making me anxious just standing like you can't hold yourself up or like you might be ill."

Draco let out a choked laugh and made his way to the empty chair near her bed. It did not escape his attention, the way her hand tightened around her wand. "Still as bossy as ever," he muttered under his breath.

He sat heavily, leaning forward, if only to be that much closer to her. He could feel her magic all around him, dancing pleasantly with his. The energy, soothing and vibrant, was enough to reduce a man to tears—and it would have, if it weren't for the all-encompassing relief he felt. He braved a glance up from his leather shoes to look at her and found that she was staring at him with thinly veiled awe and befuddlement. "What on earth _is that_?" she asked him quietly, her hand creeping up to rest over her heart.

Draco felt a smile tugging at his lips. "Our magic frolicking."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment, never losing that look of wonder. She smoothed a hand over her mass of curls, letting out a long exhale of breath he didn't realize she had been holding. "This is dreadfully awkward," she told him, looking over his shoulder to peer out of the window.

He felt his chest tighten slightly at her words but remained outwardly collected. She needed to come around in her own time, after she had truly had enough time to be alone and absorb everything she had learned over the last few days. Draco stared up at her, wishing once more he could wrap her in his arms and take her away, somewhere safe where they could be together. She was wearing a pair of loose fitting khaki trousers and a sensible jumper, a pair of loafers on her feet. Comfortable. Practical. _Wrong._

"What?" she asked, running a hand over her khakis self-consciously, furrowing her brow.

"Your clothing," he mentioned slowly.

"What about my clothing?" Hermione's voice was growing indignant, throwing out the defensive tone she had maintained around him in their youth.

"It's all wrong," he explained, leaning forward to tug on the knee of her khakis, desperate for contact.

She scooted her knee away and he dropped his hands and clasped them between his knees as he leaned forward on his thighs. "I haven't seen you dressed so," he waved his hand at her get-up as he tried to find the words, " _conservatively_ in more than a year."

Hermione looked down at what she was wearing and raised an eyebrow in his direction. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Draco pulled out his wallet—the one she had purchased for him when they moved into Hogsmeade so that he would have one when he went to Paris for his apprenticeship. He opened it and retrieved a photo, one of the two of them that Hermione had insisted they take together they day they cleared their rooms at Hogwarts. He touched her photographic image fondly before handing it to her. Hermione took it and her eyes grew wide. In it, she wore the shorter Slytherin emerald and black plaid skirt she had worn the first of September when they had ridden the Hogwarts Express. Black Converse trainers, black thigh highs and a black, off the shoulder jumper completed the look. It was one of Draco's favorites—he secretly enjoyed that she looked like the rebellious Slytherin version of her former self.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and thrust the photo back toward him. "How peculiar. I used to dress like that in private, or in the Muggle world when I went out alone, but I would never be caught like that in the wizarding world!"

"Oh, my dear, but you have. Over the last year, you've developed this, 'I helped save the wizarding world, so fuck everyone' attitude," he told her, replacing the picture into his wallet with the others.

"Language, Malfoy," Hermione chastised, and Draco smirked.

They fell into another painfully awkward silence. It had been easier when she had first approached him back in September than it was now. Draco again yearned for the answer on how to bring her memories back. "You look healthier," she told him after a few beats of utterly crippling silence.

Draco looked up toward her once more. He knew he actually looked fucking haggard—he hadn't slept properly, or for more than a few stolen minutes here or there—in the week since their attack; there were dark, vampiric circles under his eyes; his shoulders were slouched, and he was drawn in on himself and exerting far too much effort to keep himself vertical. "I look healthier? Than when?"

Hermione studied his features as though she were only seeing him for the first time, and he supposed, it was the first time they had sat civilly in her mind. He could appreciate how queer the situation was for her, sitting across from someone who, in her mind, was last a Death Eater and a completely bigoted prat. Whom she just recently found out she is engaged to and madly in love with. Draco reached forward to clasp her hand in his, a familiar gesture but stopped short when she tucked her fingertips under her thighs. "I suppose sixth year. Last time I saw you…last time I remember seeing you," she corrected, shaking her head slowly, "you were so sullen and forlorn. You looked on the verge of a catastrophic crisis."

"I feel worse now, to be honest," he admitted, feeling a melancholy overtake him as he realized for the millionth time that she wasn't his for the keeping anymore. "I miss you so fiercely, Hermione. This is killing me, it really is."

Hermione shifted slightly, and he longed for her touch, wished she would reach out and stroke her fingers through his hair, muss it about how she always did when she teased him. "I'm sorry, Mal—Draco. I woke up and suddenly, I'm two years older, I've fought in a War I can't remember, I'm grieving the deaths of people I loved for what feels like the first time, and on top of it all…Ron and Harry tell me that I am madly in love with you. None of this makes sense to me right now."

Draco had not even thought of the fact that she had to begin the grieving process all over again, a fact that pulled at his heartstrings in the most vicious of ways. The Weasley twin, his cousin and the werewolf—only the tip of the iceberg. "I'm so sorry you have to go through this again. I wish, every second of every day, that it was me instead of you. If I could use a time-turner and go back I would."

"That's dangerous to even _think_ that way," she chided lightly, her voice cracking with emotion as she listened to him put his heart on his sleeve.

"I mean it, Hermione. I would do anything if it meant I could go back and take this—this pain and confusion and hurt from you," he told her, his voice pleading for her to understand his unspoken words. "I love you. I know that must sound foreign or strange or even false coming from me, but it's the truth. I have loved you since I saw you dancing to the Honeybunches song in your room."

"Honeybunches?" she questioned, wiping at her eyes with a small laugh.

"I don't know. Something about pies," he shrugged, laughing at how utterly absurd he sounded as he tried to swipe a tear from his eye before she realized he was crying.

"The Four Tops? I was dancing to The Four Tops?" she laughed along with him at the absurdity of that statement.

"Yes. And I danced with you…though, as you pointed out—so eloquently I might add—I'm a terrible dancer," he told her with a grin, feeling hope blossoming in his chest once more.

She looked at him curiously, raising one eyebrow even as her mouth curved downward in a frown. "You? Draco Malfoy? _You're_ a terrible dancer? I thought that was engrained in purebloods from the time they could walk—all those galas and balls your parents must throw."

Along with not remembering him, Draco was forced in that moment to realize that she also did not remember making peace with his mother, how much the Malfoy matriarch loved her, or even little Alya. "There's so much to help you remember. I can't help you with most of the year you spent with Potter, searching for Horcruxes. You only told me bits and pieces of that. But, the last year, from September to now, I have so much to help you remember. My mother absolutely adores you. And my sister," he told her slowly.

"Sister? I thought you were an only child," Hermione argued, her face falling as she realized there was one more piece missing for her.

"It's a long story," he mentioned, moving cautiously to sit next to her on the bed.

She angled away from him but did not move to leave his side, a huge triumph in his mind. "Hermione," her face softened at his use of her given name, "I have ways of helping you remember. Quite a few actually. If you would only give me the chance to show you."

Hermione was pondering his words, he could nearly hear the cogs clicking and turning in her brain. If she would only agree to his offer, he could teach her to scry, show her the memories they had collected, let her read all of their exchanged letters. Draco could bring her back to him. Her face gave away her every thought, so expressive his witch. Hermione had never been good at masking her feelings and now was no different. The hope within him was being dashed as he watched her defensive walls go back up into place, building a mighty fortress around her mind. "I have a lot to come to terms with, Draco. I—I just need time. I'm not even out of the hospital just yet, but I wanted to speak with you—see you for myself. I thought Ron and Harry were crazy when they told me about us."

"Sometimes I feel crazy, when I think of how naturally and quickly we fell together. Some days, I feel as though I'll awaken, and it will all have been a dream and I'll be facing the Dark Lord once more," he acquiesced, feeling the awkward tension building between them as he spilled his heart forth and she attempted to understand the words he was saying to her.

"That's exactly how I feel right now. Like I've just woke from a long slumber. I know Voldemort is gone, but in my mind and in my racing heart, I feel as though I'm getting ready to leave with my best friends to find Horcruxes. This is the most peculiar feeling I have ever had the misfortune to experience," Hermione told him sadly, smoothing her hands over her trousers once more and kicking her loafered foot idly.

"I can't pretend to imagine what you're going through," Draco told her, and truly, he could not imagine experiencing this predicament from her perspective.

"Nor I you. To me, I've never been in love with you, but you—you're experiencing the loss of someone you love, I've been told, more than life itself," she replied, her voice tender and understanding in the usual Hermione way.

"I'm going to make you fall in love with me again, I hope you know this," he vowed solemnly, fighting the urge to smooth his palm over her curls, to kiss her lips. "And I will stop at nothing to try."

Hermione looked worn and exhausted as she let his words settle over her. "You've obviously changed quite a bit, but you're still the same in some ways. Still persistent and spoiled enough to think you should get whatever you want," she commented, rolling her eyes as she rose from her bed.

"You're all I want. And I would die if it meant the chance to hold you even one more night," Draco stated simply, rising as well and walking to stand next to her.

Hermione stepped back a pace, away from where he was crowding her personal space and took a deep breath. "I need some time. Please. And please…don't talk like that."

"Like what?" he questioned, feeling affronted.

"Like you are wand-over-broom in love with me," she stated, wringing her hands.

Draco wanted to step into her, to touch her arm, to push a curl behind her ear. Instead, he took a step back, giving her more space. "I am, and more."

"It—It makes me uncomfortable," she admitted, once again biting her bottom lip with a look of guilt splashed across her features.

Hearing that anything he did now made her uncomfortable shattered his very core. His heart began to race unexpectedly, and Draco suspected that there was a full-blown panic attack beginning to well within him. Hermione had asked for time and space, told him that he was making her uncomfortable. Her face scrunched in confusion and her hand went into the pocket of her trousers. From it, she pulled out the spherical charm he had given her, imbued with his heartbeat. "What is this?" she asked him, running her thumb over the glass bauble as she stared at it.

"I gave it to you on our first muggle date. So that you could feel how my heart beats only for you," he told her, his throat closing with laden emotion.

For the first time since he entered her room, Draco knew he could not hold back the tears that had threatened to fall. A sob managed to choke out of his throat and Hermione looked up at him, bewildered. "Why don't you take it—it obviously means something more to you right now," she suggested, unwittingly tearing the tattered remains of his heart into miniscule pieces.

Draco clamped a hand tightly over his mouth, trying to contain the sounds of his pathetic breakdown and held the other hand up, shaking his head slightly. "I gave it to you. Just hold onto it until you're ready to feel it."

She nodded, giving the item one last glance before she put it in her pocket. "I gave Harry the ring. He put it into a bag and said he gave the bag to you."

Draco nodded, vaguely recalling tossing that bag behind his couch. He had no desire to see that engagement ring again, not until it was adorning her finger. There was a soft knock at the door. "Hermione, we need to head—"

Her father's voice was cut off as her mother pushed past him and stormed into the room, her finger raised and pointed at Draco's face. _"You! You have no right to be in here! You. Stay. Away. From. Our. Daughter!"_ each word was punctuated with a harsh jab of her finger into Draco's chest, causing him to step back.

"Mother!" Hermione screeched and then all Draco could hear was his rage, blinding white and red hot simultaneously, humming like a Victrola needle on vinyl and licking beneath the surface of his skin like a raging inferno.

o-o-o

A/N: Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Rage coursed through Draco's entire body, stronger and more unpredictable than any he had felt since the Dark Lord was defeated. The murderous look on his face caused Hermione to back away from him and her parents to recoil slightly as well, though her mother still looked ready to spit fire and incinerate him. He didn't care, he was ready for a fight, if that was what this wretched woman was looking for.

"I have every right to be in here," he hissed, moving to block Hermione subconsciously. "Hermione is my fiancée."

"Not any more, she isn't," Jean Granger spat, her eyes narrowing as she raised her chin in triumph at him. "She doesn't even remember your farce of a relationship."

"What Hermione and I had was— _is—_ real, even if she can't recall it right now. But the Healers—the same ones I hired to bring your memories back, mind you—will solve this and bring her back to me," Draco vowed, stepping closer to the woman. "Don't you _dare_ insult her like that. Hermione would never be in a relationship with someone she didn't find worthy."

He knew his magic was vibrating from his body as crept forth, the lights above them flickering and his fingertips crackling with electricity. Draco hadn't felt this out of control in longer than he could recall. With Hermione's lapse in memory, his life crumbling around him, and now her parents insulting _them_ , it all became too much. It took every ounce of self-control Draco could harness to keep from hexing her mother. "Young man, I believe you should leave," Richard Granger told him, pulling his wife's arm. "Hermione, we need to head home now."

"Home? _Home?_ Have you lost your minds? Hermione needs to stay in the wizarding world," Draco argued, looking at where Hermione was currently touching his arm to keep him from advancing.

"The wizarding world? You mean the world that nearly killed her, more than once? This is all your fault, boy! If you would have been thrown in prison for your crimes, she would never have been attacked!" Jean screeched, and Draco felt his heart shredding at the truth in her words.

Swallowing thickly, his voice was hoarse when he spoke. "I have made reparations with many of the people whose lives were effected by my actions. I was given a second chance and I have spent every day, with her assistance, trying to better myself."

"A smash up job you've done, seeing as she was viciously attacked, in your presence. Convenient isn't it?" Jean spat, crossing her arms.

"Mother!" Hermione yelled, now taking the protective stance in front of Draco, a familiarity that made him homesick for what felt like another lifetime.

Draco could feel his entire body shaking, his rage mixing with agonizing sadness in a dangerous cocktail. "I could never," he managed to croak. "I would never hurt Hermione. She's my entire world."

Hermione's face softened sadly at his words as she shifted awkwardly on her feet. He knew she hated hearing him speak like that, but it was the truth and his actions were being called into question. "Hermione, we are leaving," her mother told her, grabbing up a duffel bag that contained her belongings.

"I'm not saying she has to come back home with me," Draco began, regaining his voice as he spoke through gritted teeth, "but she needs to stay in the wizarding world."

"Give me one good reason why she shouldn't come home to London with us," Richard asked him, crossing his arms.

"Doesn't anyone care what I think?" Hermione asked aloud, but she was ignored as she stood in the middle of a verbal duel.

"Protection, for one," Draco told him, holding up his fingers to begin counting.

"Protection? Like you protected her? She could have died—we're lucky all she lost is her memory!" Jean told him.

"Protection from others who know who and what to look for in the event there is an ambush. A bunch of Muggles, even with your weapons, are no match for a Dark wizard—or more than one," he told them. "She's a sitting duck in a house filled with Muggles."

"I can watch out for myself, Malfoy," Hermione cut in, looking back at him from where she still stood in front of him.

"No, you can't. This isn't the world we lived in during sixth year. There is a serial...attacker, possibly killer, on the loose. No one knows who it is, except perhaps some vigilante seeking revenge against Death Eaters," Draco responded, his gaze softening a touch as he looked at her lovingly. "I was far too lax when we went to Diagon Alley—and for that, I will never forgive myself. But Hermione, going to stay in Muggle London is the worst thing you can do right now. You need to stay in our world. Not with me," his voice caught in his throat and he had to clear it in order to continue, "but perhaps at the Burrow. Somewhere that our kind can watch over you, watch for signs that you aren't worsening and get you back here to St. Mungo's if need be."

"There are plenty of fine establishments and doctors in our world," Richard commented, putting his arm around his wife.

"I'm sure there are, but we don't know the lingering effects of the curse that was used on her, now do we? How would you explain if she randomly became petrified? Do you think a Muggle Healer could rightfully explain that? No, you would only be putting her at risk and our world into danger."

"She can come home and put this magical nonsense behind her," Jean argued, looking at Hermione with a mother's desperation.

"I'm not putting anything behind me—"

"You have never supported Hermione. From the day McGonagall showed up to explain to you exactly who she is and what she is capable of, you have looked at her like she is diseased, ruined by her magic!" Draco told them, once again stepping forward and being caught by Hermione's firm hand.

"Isn't that how you treated her for the first seven years of your lives?" her father countered, smirking when Draco's face fell. "Like she was beneath you because of the blood running in her veins?"

"Dad! Is anyone going to listen to me?" Hermione huffed, stomping her foot and looking between Draco and her parents.

Draco glared at her parents for a few more moments before lowering his gaze to Hermione's face. He longed to reach out and cup her cheek, to speak sweetly and tell her that he would make everything better if she would only go with him. "Hermione, you know it would be better for you to stay with the Weasleys."

"You don't get to tell me what is best for me, Draco," she told him sadly, shaking her head. "I'm going to go home to London, so I can have some space to think without having my photograph taken or Molly breathing down my neck."

Draco's hopes were dashed as her mother gave him a triumphantly smug look. Hermione rounded on Jean and crossed her arms as well. "You don't have say in my life either. I'm not moving home permanently. I just need time to figure this all out."

"Hermione, it's not too late to get you into university. You always wanted to be a teacher—now is your time," her mother argued, clasping the curly haired witch around the arm.

Hermione jerked her arm away. "I'm _not_ turning my back on who I am because some fool thought he would ruin my life by taking my memories. If anything, I'm even more determined to show him that life goes on."

"Yes, but without _him_ ," Richard said, tossing a dirty look in Draco's direction. "He's the reason you're in this mess."

"I'm not promising anyone anything," Hermione told her father, turning once more to give Draco a heartbroken look. "I can't promise you that we will ever be anything more than," she waved her hand, searching for words that refused to come, "whatever _this_ is. But I'm also not saying that I'm blocking you out completely. I'm asking for _time_. Please."

The sheer desperation and anguish in Hermione's voice was enough to make Draco want to break down on her behalf. There was a confusion on her face, but a hurt that flashed in her eyes and he felt his stomach roil grotesquely.

Draco was certain that he was feeling far too many emotions for any one man. His hands still shook in his blinding anger at her parents, his body quaking with the defeat of her going home with them. Hermione frowned and placed her hand on his arm, the feel of their magic intertwining causing her brow to furrow. "You're trembling."

"Please don't go with them, Hermione. Please," Draco pleaded, his hand moving of its own accord to brush a curl behind her ear.

She moved her head a minute distance from his hand, putting her own hand over it to lower it to his side. "Time. Please. I'll contact you when I'm ready. Don't contact me first."

With that, Hermione turned and nearly ran from the door, a choking noise filling the air as she went. She was going to cry, a fact that made Draco feel terrible as he sat on the edge of her hospital bed. Her mother shot him a dirty look and left to comfort her daughter. Richard Granger came up to him and lowered his face to Draco's level. "You stay away from our daughter. We've thanked you for your role in bringing us back to her, but you nearly took her from us for good. Your presence is detrimental to her—her life, her healing, her future. I'm only going to tell you this, this one time. Stay away from my daughter."

With that, Richard stood and straightened his cuffs. Draco could feel the rage boiling within once more and he was thankful that the muggle strode out of the doors, because he was moments from hexing him into oblivion. He dropped his blond head into his hands, taking very deliberate breaths to try and steady his nerves. Angry tears burned his eyes and he blinked them away, cursing any and everyone.

"Well, if this isn't a pitiful sight," Weasley's voice caught him off guard.

Draco looked up to find the redheaded man leaning against the door jamb, his arms crossed. "Piss off," he told him, running his hands over his thighs.

Weasley sighed and entered the room, sitting in the chair by the bedside. Draco was in no mood for a heart-to-heart, but he could tell his counterpart was getting ready to speak. Draco took the moment of silence to head him off. "How could you let her go with those awful fucking muggles? They're despicable people!"

Weasley looked up at him incredulously. "They're her parents."

"Hasn't she ever told you about them? How they treat her, especially her hag of a mother?" he asked forcefully, and he watched as Weasley's face contorted with confusion.

"She never mentioned anything about her parents to me, except that her relationship with her mother wasn't exactly close. She enjoyed spending time with them camping and such," he shrugged.

Draco looked at him contemptuously. "You oaf. Her mother has treated her like a freak, a despicable disease-ridden leper. Like it was her fault she was born into magic."

He could see Weasley give him a look—the same look her father had given him when he accused him of treating her differently their entire lives. The redhead quickly steeled his features, clearly not wishing to start a row. "Look, I know how you feel right now—"

"How could you possibly know how I feel?" Draco demanded. "I am in love with her and she has forgotten me completely."

"You think that wasn't the exact same way I felt when she decided to skip off to Hogwarts for her final year of school? Knowing that the only reason she was going back was because _you_ were? She was mine first, and I lost her to you," Weasley argued, sitting back in the chair and eyeing him coldly.

"Don't you even fucking think about it. I will murder you," Draco threatened between clenched teeth.

Weasley waved his hand absently. "Settle yourself, mate. I've already grieved that loss. And I love Alicia. My point is, I _understand_ where you're coming from. Hermione is…she's something else."

"If you cared so much, why didn't you try and convince her to stay at the Burrow, then?" Draco questioned, wishing he could just apparate away from this entire conversation.

Weasley huffed a bitter laugh. "If there is one thing I know about Hermione, it's that you can't force her to do anything she doesn't want to do. It's that simple. When her mind is set, watch out, mate."

Draco laughed, too, nodding at how true that sentiment was. Weasley sighed and smacked his palm against the chair's arm. "Come on. Let's meet Harry and grab a pint."

"We should be trying to find her attacker," the blond argued accusatorily. "Not celebrating."

"No one is celebrating. But there are plenty of Aurors on the case. If you go home now, you'll destroy the entire place and then have to piece it all together," Ron told him, standing and gesturing for him to follow. "Unless, of course, you want to go home with your mother. Who, by the way, is right scary when she wants to be."

Draco rolled his eyes. "She mollycoddles me like I'm a child."

Weasley gave him a look as they exited the room. "You haven't seen mollycoddling until you've met Molly Weasley. The woman frets over holes in my socks like the end of the world is coming if my toe pops out."

Draco laughed, agreeing that it was a mothering trait and swallowed the lump in his throat guiltily as he wondered how Hermione was getting on with her mother.

o-o-o

Draco stumbled into the townhouse later than he had intended. Sitting with Weasley and Potter for hours, he realized that the two could easily drink him under the table. Even Theo had nothing on Weasley and he suspected that Molly Weasley may not have known what her six boys were getting up to at all hours. Though the other two men were equally worried about Hermione, they had provided a nice distraction from the shit storm his life was rapidly becoming.

With a wave of his wand, the lights illuminated the still and silent house. Crookshanks darted out from their bedroom, prancing up to rub his sides along Draco's pantlegs affectionately. The wizard looked at the kneazle through bleary eyes and reached down to scratch behind his ears, nearly toppling forward. He was going to murder those two Golden imbeciles.

He made his way to the bathroom where his handy bottle of pepper-up rested. Gulping it down in one spicy shot, he stared at himself in the mirror. As the fog began to lift, Draco decided he was absolutely disgusted with himself. His witch rest hundreds of miles away and here, he had spent the afternoon and evening with her best friends, swapping stories and drinking like a fish.

Breathing out heavily, he turned from the sink basin and made his way into their room, toeing off his heavy boots. He wanted nothing more than to climb into bed, sleep for days, months, years—however long it took to restore Hermione's memories. Instead, he leaned on the door frame and looked at the memory chest.

 _I need to win her back, need to show her that our love is stronger than this._ The wizard had thought endlessly about methods to bring her back since finding the peacock feather.He would write to every mutual contact they had known over the last two years, arrange for each person to provide as many memories as possible. He would collect her memories, through the eyes and filters of others, to begin piecing her life back together for her. Draco could give her what she had no way of knowing or recalling.

Walking toward the table where the chest rested, Draco caught his reflection in his peripheral. _The mirror. Where the fuck is her mirror?_ Would she even be able to See anything from the missing pieces of her life? Draco made it a point to research memory loss and Divination first thing in the morning, already mentally penning letters to both McGonagall and Trelawney. He rushed to her chest of drawers, pushing her underthings out of the way to retrieve the scrying mirror. His knuckles rapped against the wooden bottom of the drawer.

He peered into it, shuffling her items about. Socks and knickers were tossed over his shoulder as he searched the drawer. Then her pajamas, jeans, skirts. Soon, her entire chest of drawers was empty. He moved to his and did the same. The nightstands. The guest bedroom. The sitting room. Soon, every room in the house was turned upside down, items strewn about the floor. Draco had accidentally tossed the couch cushions at Crookshanks, who responded with a hiss and an indignant flick of his tail.

For an hour, Draco tore every single thing in their home apart, telling himself he was simply searching for her scrying mirror. But the truth of the matter was, he felt better destroying everything. His anger and frustration could be taken out on her jumpers and the books on their shelves instead of him apparating to her parents' home and cursing them.

Draco collapsed, exhausted from his efforts, in the middle of their bedroom—the room where he had begun, the room that was the most painful to be in all alone. _Where the fuck is that fucking mirror?_

o-o-o

A/N: Thank you for the support you've already shown. I appreciate each of you. I don't have the time to send personal thank you's for last chapter before I post this (I should already be in the shower and getting ready for work! Eep!), but know that I am eternally grateful. Don't worry, lovelies, Hermione will find her voice soon enough. As she insisted, just give her time.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco was unsure of how he managed to live through the next few days. Potter and Weasley had come by each day, sometimes together, sometimes separately, to check on his well-being. As much as he could not stand being the subject of their pity, he could not deny that they shared in his worry over Hermione.

Each day had been filled with pacing, agonizing, destroying the home and then piecing it all back together again, ashamed until his next major outburst. Each night had been sleepless, even with an extra dose of dreamless draught, spent staring blankly at the ceiling or coiled in on himself, his arm draped over her empty side. Draco had not spent so much time away from his witch since September and he was nearly infirmed with forlorn loneliness.

Hermione may not have died, but this had to be a close second in terms of how he felt. Draco knew he was experiencing different stages of grief, one at a time. He was teetering now between denial and anger-he refused to believe that her memories could not be restored, and he had nearly threatened to burn the entire memory wing of the hospital to the ground if they did not get off their arses and try. Potter had saved him from his own mouth then.

Depression was constant, a tired weariness in his bones that made him want to surrender and sleep for the rest of eternity. The sheer audacity of the people around him to even suggest that he try to maintain a normalcy after such a spectacular loss was ludicrous. There was an ever-present aching in his chest, a void in his heart where her rightful place had been vacated. No matter how much he drank, swore, destroyed-nothing brought her back to him.

She had asked him not to contact her first. It took every single fiber of his being to respect her wishes. _Time_. Draco could give her that much-she had given him time, patience and so much more over the last year. Still, his hand felt far too light without hers resting within, his lips desperately clinging to the sweet taste of their last kiss.

Draco knew he needed to stop pitying himself and to initiate his plan. He intended to visit as many of their mutual acquaintances as possible, to provide them with vials for memories. He would collect as many perspectives as he could, in order to give her a well-rounded understanding of the last two years. Potter and Weasley were already bringing filled vials with them each time they dropped past.

His mother had brought him a book from their library in France- _See Through the Mist-_ that went into great detail with regards to the possibilities surrounding her ability to fill in some of the blanks in her timeline. It seemed it worked on a case-by-case basis-some Seers were able to delve into these dark pockets and recover memories after obliviation, while others were left helpless, so unsure of their past that they could not bring a clear enough intention forth to bring about the memories.

Draco held faith that Hermione would fall into the first half, that if he could just get her scrying mirror to her-the scrying mirror he still had yet to _find_ -that she would be able to See once more, would be able to delve into their past and witness her own memories. Or, more importantly, See who had done this to her. The Aurors insisted he stay away from Diagon Alley, that they had the investigation under control, but he was growing restless with their constant drawing of blanks.

Draco pulled out the chair at their desk, the memory chest resting ominously in the corner. He had yet to retrieve or watch any of her memories, instead relying on his own to get him by. He vowed he would never forget a single thing about her-not her taste, not her scent, not the way her laughter filled an entire room.

The journals they had exchanged in Hogwarts' half-arsed attempt at a pen pal program the year prior were perched beside the memory chest. The moment she decided she was ready for contact, he would be packaging everything up and bringing it straight to her. In the meantime, he sat alone and ran his fingers over her large, loopy cursive writing.

It had helped, in a small, strange way, to be able to write to her, to get his feelings down on paper. Some days, it was not even the knowledge that she would read it that assisted his mindset-it was merely relaying his internal thoughts, to get them _out_. He retrieved a fresh roll of parchment from the desk drawer and a brand new pot of purple ink and raven quill. Hermione many never see the letter he would pen, but damn, he yearned for the cathartic feeling of getting his thoughts out.

 _My dearest Hermione,_

 _I cannot even begin to describe to you the aching I feel in my heart, growing ever more painful with every minute that passes without you by my side. I know it makes you uncomfortable to hear me speak of my love for you. I have been so focused on my own inner turmoil that I have scarce thought of how this all must make you feel. How confused, shocked, betrayed you must feel._

 _You've requested that I keep my distance until you are ready, a request I will respect for you and you alone. It is, by far, the most difficult thing I have ever been tasked with-yes, I'm including the task you are likely thinking of now in that grouping. Keeping away brings me physical anguish, but I know I cannot push you into loving me once more-that has to begin with you, when you're ready. I'm here, waiting, and I shall never go._

 _Potter and Weasley are insistent on me being the one to tell you how we came to be. I know you cannot remember the details, but would you believe it was Divination of all things? I know, an asinine and ridiculous waste of time, right? How wrong we both were about that particular subject, love. A scrying mirror brought you to me. You're a Seer, Hermione. A genuine Seer. You were able to See my past, present, and future before you and I had ever exchanged a single civil word. From your hiding places deep in the forests of Scotland, you watched trivial scenes from my life and what you saw changed your entire perspective of me._

 _I do not know why the Fates showed my ugly mug in that mirror, but I am forever grateful. Whatever you saw in me, the small spark of light that dwelled within me, even without my knowledge, it brought you to me. Weasley says you returned to Hogwarts solely because I did-how true that is, I'm unsure. But I like to think that I may have played a small part because returning to that school and falling in love with you was the single greatest happenstance of my life._

 _I've been searching high and low to find the scrying mirror, but if I need to, I will create a new one for you. I've read that it is possible to See missing pieces and I would be curious if you could See the attack. Either way, I will find the man who did this. I will kill him with my bare hands, this I promise you. I have never loathed another human being so deeply._

 _Hermione, not only are you a Seer, but you are an exceptionally rare form of a Seer, referred to as a Beholder. You have the ability to interact with the visions-we're proof of this. Your magic took delight in dancing with mine and we are forever entwined. Amazing, isn't it? How two people who were enemies for so long can fall in love once the lenses of prejudice, expectation, and hatred are lifted?_

 _We began, much like I am doing now, with a series of letters in these journals that Headmistress McGonagall gave us in a pen pal program. I have the journals, and I cannot wait to give them to you to look over. Some of our earliest thoughts of one another, raw and fragile as we were coming out of the War. It is terribly unnerving, to once again be reduced to writing letters. My hands are sweating and I feel dragonflies fluttering in my stomach. I feel like I am back in my private room, in the early days before you and I were an item, worrying over what I would write to you. I was so anxious to let you into my mind, as fucked up as it is. But you never judged, never looked down on me, never made me feel as though you wanted me to pay for my actions. Though I should have paid the price for my early decisions and I will never forgive myself that it was you who is suffering in my stead._

 _I've apologized to you so many times that you began simply placing a finger over my lips and a hand over my heart when a new apology would form on my tongue. But you don't remember a single one of those apologies. Right now, in your mind, I'm a bully, a murderer, a Death Eater, a follower of the Dark Lord. I cannot deny that I was all of those things. I may not have killed Dumbledore outright, but my actions led to his death and began a War that spiraled so far out of control. I took the Mark and followed the Dark Lord's orders because I feared for my mother's life above all else. This sounds weak, and I suppose it is, as I have spent every day trying to figure out why I didn't just go to Dumbledore, to begin with. I made all the wrong choices in life, and for that, I can never say enough sorries, can never make proper amends, no matter how hard I have tried._

 _The wrong choices began far earlier than sixth year, however. Right now, you are likely replaying all of the vile and cruel things I said to you in our youth. I was raised in a home full of prejudice, hatred, control. I wanted nothing more than to please my father, even if that meant blindly following him. By the time I began questioning him, I was too far gone with you. I never thought I would have the opportunity to tell you that I believed quite the opposite. How would you ever forgive me? I was the one who introduced you to the foulest slur of them all-the one maring your beautiful flesh now._

 _I can never take back everything I have ever said to you, Hermione. As much as I wish those were the particular memories taken from you, they weren't. I am so sorry those ideas of yourself-of your blood somehow being dirty, of being second class, of being diseased-ever crossed into your mind. It is something I will forever live with-the regret and disdain for myself, for ever bringing those doubts. They will always linger in the back of your mind, and all I can do is replace them with the delicate whispers of how much I love you, how much you mean to me, how you saved me. Merlin, Hermione, how I love you. It is incredible, how swiftly and certainly we came together._

 _I have ways of bringing you back to me. Perhaps not your actual memories-the Healers are determined to tell me that they are unable to be retrieved-but, I have other methods. For Christmas, I handcrafted a pensieve and a memory chest of sorts, filled with vials of memories. Both your perspectives and my own. Anytime something struck a chord within our hearts, a new vial would appear. I would love for you to watch them so that you can see how genuine and pure our love is. I'm working on collecting memories from others as I write this, to better fill in those times we were apart._

 _When you are ready, I am going to recapture your heart-this is my single-hearted vow and promise to you. I will bring you back to me. I know that we belong together, it was written in the stars-or rather, the clouds, as you watched in your mirror in one of those first scrys. We've shared so many incredible moments together, as you'll see in our memories. I will even do my best to recreate these moments for you. I told you that I saw you dancing to the Honeybunches song. Did you know that night, we climbed into a blanket fort? I read poetry to you and we slept side-by-side, not yet in love, but well on our way. My mother and sister are head-over-heels for you and we have shared-and will share-so many marvelous moments in the vineyard where they live in France._

 _I know what you're thinking now-what about Lucius? My dearest, my father knows nothing about us yet. He's been in Azkaban for the last year, and I am to retrieve him in two days time. I was hoping to introduce you to him over dinner, for him to be entranced by the strange muggle-born, as fierce, gorgeous and courageous as you are. Though I had hoped he would take to you, I've spent months rehearsing a speech to let him know exactly where he could go should he not accept our union._

 _Now? Merlin, I am a bundle of nerves at the thought of going to retrieve him from prison. You are always the courageous half of this pair-you hold me up when I am weak and falling. You've spent so many nights listening to the woes that plagued my relationship with my father. But you forgave him as well, encouraged me to find it within myself to forgive him. The mere thought of seeing him without you by my side eats me up inside. I've got to explain to him how I had the most perfect witch on this green earth, and how I lost her. How do I even find the words?_

 _I hope you agree to see me soon, love. I miss you so fiercely that I feel as though my heart is constantly being torn to smaller and smaller shreds. I just want to see you, that radiant, beautiful smile that commands attention. I want to stare into the endless depths of those mahogany depths and get lost in the cinnamon and tea scent that works as a balm to soothe my heart._

 _How weak and repulsive I must sound to you. You, who is always so brave and faces any challenge head-on, with grit and determination, a little smile on your lips. I'm not too proud to say that I am nothing without you. You more than complete me. You saved me-from myself, from a life of isolation, from the torment of an ill mind. You brought me to life, shined Light into every facet of my being and turned my entire world on its head. I would not have it any other way._

 _I love you, Hermione Granger. Until the day I die, I will fight for you. I promise you this._

 _With all of my heart and soul,_

 _Your Draco._

When Draco was finished writing, his hand was cramped and the words were slanting slightly down the page, a few spots splotched from where tears had fallen. He would not send the letter just yet, not until Hermione contacted him first. Still, there was a sweet release at just getting the words on parchment, the thoughts into the cosmos.

Feeling lighter, he wiped the tears from his cheeks with the sleeve of his jumper and stood. He would bring her back. He knew he could, given the chance. With a glance at the clock, he realized he was approaching the time Lovegood had designated for him to meet for memory retrieval. He slipped a few empty vials into a velvet emerald bag and walked swiftly from the room, refusing to look around at its empty depths any longer.

Lovegood had insisted they meet at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, a strange location to Draco. He was grateful that it was a brief walk from the townhouse to the shop, and he kept his head bowed low and his eyes trained on the ground the entire way. The usual clientele-horny teenagers snogging in corners-were all in class up in the castle, so the Tea Shop was mercifully empty. Save one head of bright blonde hair, topped with a lime green and purple fascinator. He rolled his eyes as he made his way to where Lovegood sat, humming to herself as she flipped through a book on nightshade infestations. "Luna," Draco greeted dryly, slipping across from her.

The witch snapped her book shut and gave him a bright and demure smile, her eyes conveying thoughts that were seemingly worlds away. "Draco. I ordered a cup of lavender and chamomile tea for you, to help soothe your nerves."

She tapped the rim of the cup before him and the liquid began to steam. He raised an eyebrow and peered into the cup. "There are loose leaves in this."

She smiled widely once more and sat back in her chair, raising her own dainty cup to her lips. "We've never had a proper conversation, have we, Draco? Just the two of us?"

Draco furrowed his brow. He and Lovegood had exchanged pleasantries enough in the last year, but as far as he could remember, he had never had reason to be alone with the odd witch. "I don't believe so."

"Theo tells me you are quite adept at potions making," she mentioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Theo?" Draco questioned, burning his lip on the tea and wiping a drop from his chin.

"Yes. Nott. You know him, of course. He tells me your best subject was potions. But, Hermione told me something different," Luna pointed out, retrieving a small box from the pocket of her traveling cloak.

His eyes fell on the box she placed in the center of the table. A simple deck of Tarot cards. "Uh, Luna, I don't know what Hermione told you, but she's the Seer-not me."

"Hermione may have Seer's blood. But she said you enhanced her visions. That counts for something, Draco," Lovegood replied, placing her hand over his and turning it over to study the palm of his hand.

He wondered if every encounter with the Lovegood girl was this strange, noting that her nose nearly touched his palm as her eyes traced the lines. "Er-I wanted to drop off some empty vials to you, in hopes that you would duplicate some memories for Hermione. They don't necessarily have to be about me-I'm sure she would be appreciative of any insight you can give her."

Lovegood raised her face and curled his fingers in on his palm, patting his hand kindly. "I'd be happy to help. I hope you know, though, that Hermione will love you, no matter what the rest of us show her. Even if you didn't have a single memory to show her, she would fall in love with you all over again."

"How do you know that?" Draco asked, gulping down the hot liquid in hopes of cutting this meeting short.

"You are two halves of a whole. It is evident to anyone who met the two of you. It's far more than soul mates-the two of you complete each other. The fact that she is a Beholder is only a small part of the entire picture. She chose you-her magic, her body, her mind, and most importantly, _her soul_ chose you. Hermione may be confused right now, but in her heart, she knows you belong together. As bad as you are suffering," Luna paused and reached across the table to run a finger over the darkened circles of his eyes, "I imagine she is suffering equally. More, if I had to guess because she has the added shrouding of her memories."

The thought that Hermione could be in more pain that he was experiencing nearly made him faint. His chest and neck grew hot, his face ablaze as he fought a quivering lip. "You've finished your tea," Luna stated simply, paying his embarrassment no mind.

Draco looked down at the empty cup he held, the loose leaves broken and bunched at the bottom. They were arranged into a crude circle around the bottom, a small dollop in the center. With a huff, he put the cup on its saucer and sat back in his chair. "Will you provide memories?"

Luna reached and looked into the cup, a small smile still on her lips. "The sun. New beginnings."

Draco took the cup from her hand and looked back at the nasty glob of leaves. It in no way resembled a sun to him, but he felt a small ignition of hope in his chest at her words. _New beginnings._ He may not have a chance at bringing back Hermione's memories, but he would damn sure bring new ones to her. He would start over and bewitch her, just as she had done to him.

"I'd be glad to provide some memories," Lovegood's voice broke into his reverie, a small smile sliding across his face when he looked back up at her.

"Thank you," he told her, grateful for any assistance the witch would bring. "For meeting with me and for anything you can do to help."

He stood to leave and Lovegood rose as well, tapping the deck of Tarot cards. "Why don't you take one before you go? This is the same deck that Hermione retrieved the Lovers from."

He could clearly picture the Lovers card-card of the Gemini-tucked into Hermione's copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ , right where she had left it on her nightstand. He cleared his throat as she fanned the cards in her hand. "Just select one."

He ran his fingertips over the cool, smooth surface of the cards and then pulled one out. It showed an elderly man, hoisting a lantern and a walking stick. _The Hermit_. Lovegood walked around and looked over his arm at the card. "The Hermit. A journey lies ahead of you, one that calls for introspection and self-examination. You want to turn your back on the world around you and focus on your little own world within. Makes perfect sense. You need to find yourself and then, Hermione will be able to easily find her way to you as well."

Lovegood's riddles were making Draco's head hurt as he tried to figure out the nonsensical amalgamation of words. He handed her the small velvet bag and gave her a smile. "Thanks, Luna. For everything."

"Of course," she told him, bouncing on her feet. "Hermione was one of the few people who didn't call me Loony. She's always been sweet to me and if she loves you, then I have reason to respect you, as well. I trust her judgment."

Lovegood was the first person to acknowledge that Hermione had made the choice to love him, a sentiment for which he was most grateful. A lump formed in his throat as he tried to thank her properly. Always acutely intuitive, she gave him a kind smile and pulled him into a hug. Not used to someone so apt to touching, he hugged her stiffly. "Hermione loves you. Not loved. _Loves._ "

She pulled away and he turned to go toward the door. "Oh, and Draco. That's the Virgo card."

He looked at the strange, wizened old man on the card. The Virgo. Draco Malfoy had never placed his beliefs in silly, trivial things like Divination. But, suddenly, Divination was all the hope he had.

o-o-o

A/N: Please review! And special thanks to caprubia for being the pre-reader extraordinaire.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

Draco thought he would welcome any distraction from the misery that had overtaken his life. But as he stared at his shaking fingers attempting, for the third time, to tie a full Windsor in the silk tie, he thought staying in bed and reliving his finest moments with Hermione sounded like bliss. It was the day Lucius Malfoy was to be released from prison and his already delicate nerves were ablaze within his body. His stomach roiled, and he had a migraine that all of the potions in the world could not cure.

There was a soft knock at his door and he sighed. "Come in, Mother."

Narcissa entered the room and he untied his tie to begin his fourth go at it. She noticed his already pale skin was taking on an ashen grey undertone and her lips pressed into a straight, thin line. She turned him away from the mirror and swatted his hands away from the tie. "You're trembling, dragon."

"I didn't expect to be facing today alone," Draco replied shortly, looking down at his mother as she worked to knot his tie.

She had arrived at the townhouse bright and early, dressed like royalty. He had gotten entirely too used to seeing her looking more relaxed in the last year, but today was the day she had patiently waited three hundred and seventy days to greet. His mother had always put on a courageous, unaffected façade for him, hoping to keep the worry from reaching him. Draco knew his mother had spent far too many nights, crying herself to sleep and trying to numb the pain of being a widow to the war.

"You're not alone, Draco Lucius. Hermione may not be in attendance, but I am here, and your sister is downstairs playing with Crookshanks," she told him, her voice laced with conviction. "We were a family once and we _will_ be a family again. More so now, with Alya home."

There were words, unspoken and hanging in the air between them, and they both knew it. _Please forgive him, for me and for Alya._ Draco had thought of this day, nearly obsessively, for months when his father had first been incarcerated. He had spent his fair share of days, loathing the light sentence that meant he would one day have to face his father again. Hermione had stayed awake far too many nights during their last year in Hogwarts, listening to him lament about the strong bond that had been severed when his father had rejoined the Dark Lord's ranks. Once proud of the status it garnered within the pureblood community, the thought now made Draco physically ill.

His mother's hands smoothed over his tie and she gazed up at him with glassy eyes. "Draco. Please."

"He chose the Dark Lord over his family. Over me! I was expected to _die_ for him, Mother," he whispered forcefully, though he knew Alya had no way of hearing him.

" _No!"_ his mother inserted harshly. "He _never_ wanted that for you, his only son. Your father made every decision with this family in mind. It was impossible to see into the future—to know that the Dark Lord's plans would fail. I'm not saying the choices were the right ones—clearly they were all wrong."

"That is _the_ understatement of the year, Mother," he hissed between clenched teeth.

It was a never-ending argument, one he and his mother had engaged in multiple times over. An argument that only ever had two losers. "Your father loves you, Draco. I can explain to you, in fifteen different configurations of the same words, the world we lived in and the world we had envisioned for you and your sister. I can tell you, yet again, that we were wrapped in lies, propaganda and deceit. Trickery on the Dark Lord's part. I can beg you for forgiveness for the umpteenth time. Or you can stop being so _damn_ stubborn and accept that what I've told you is the truth and that your father is not the monster you think him to be."

Tears were streaming down his mother's perfectly made up face, a single strand of hair falling from her elegant coif. His petulant attitude was bleeding out, ruining the relationships that still remained. A groan caught in his through and he sat on the side of his bed. "The last thing I want is to upset you."

He dropped his head into his palms, resting his elbows on his knees. His mother moved to stand in front of him, combing her fingers through his hair. "I am sorry that Hermione is still maintaining a distance, little dragon. She is an intelligent girl with a bubbling curiosity and a thirst for knowledge. It led her to pursue you once and it will bring her back to you once more, but you must be patient. Her life has been turned on its head as well."

"Mother—" Draco's voice caught and went up in pitch, strangling a dry sob, "what if she never comes back to me?"

"Hermione loves you. She's just confused right now," his mother told him, putting a hand at the nape of his neck.

He pressed the top of his head against his mother's hip and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Mum, my life is not even worth living without her," he whispered as his mother continued running a motherly hand through his locks.

At the sound of such an informal term of endearment, Narcissa let out a small strangled cry of her own. Draco rarely showed such affection and her heart no doubt ached for him. She lifted his chin to look at her with a crooked finger and used her hands to dry his cheeks. "Give her time. She fell in love with you for who you are, dear. Not because of what she saw in her visions. She overcame your pasts once, and she will do it again. But today—today we must be strong."

"The paparazzi will be up our arses today," he commented, rising to his feet and towering over his mother once more.

"Language, Draco Lucius," she chided lightly, wringing her hands.

He had never before thought his mother to be fragile. The witch had held her head high when faced with adverse public opinions in the past and had remained stoic as his father was led out in shackles three hundred and seventy days ago. As she stood before him, worry etched into her features, he felt his heart thumping painfully. Guilt ate at him, bite by bite. He had been so wrapped up in his own life that he had failed to take care of his mother when she needed him most.

"We should head out," he told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Narcissa nodded and dabbed her cheeks with a handkerchief. Draco plastered a smile onto his face for her. "Come on, let's get father home with you."

They descended the stairs to find Alya lying on the floor, Crookshanks curled onto her belly and purring loudly. _I like him,_ she signed. _When can I get my familiar?_

Draco laughed as his mother pinched the bridge of her nose. She _hated_ animals around the house. " _When you get your letter to Beauxbatons,"_ Narcissa signed.

She turned to him with an exasperated look. "You find this amusing, do you?" his mother asked, poking him in the ribs.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, taking Alya's hand when she extended it to him. "I'm sure Hermione misses him—she'll likely want him back soon."

He dreaded the moment when she would undoubtedly ask for her companion back. Draco was growing attached to him in her absence and found him to be intuitive and clever, just as she had always claimed. Shoving his hand into his pocket, his fingers brushed the edges of the Hermit card. His ray of sunshine, his hope that he would survive this day. Giving Crooks a scratch behind the ear, he led Alya to the floo.

Bile was rising in his throat as he thought of seeing his father again. They floo'ed as a unit to the Ministry, where he would be arriving from Azkaban in a mere ten minutes. Stepping out, flashes from cameras immediately began to go off and blind them, sending colorful dots to float behind his eyes. He put a hand over Alya's eyes and dragged her as quickly as her legs would go while journalists from gossip rags and the _Daily Prophet_ screeched at them, their voices creating an indiscernible cacophony of sound. _"Did you obliviate Hermione Granger?"_ mixed and mingled with, _"Mrs. Malfoy, do you think your husband will ever be able to show his face in wizarding Britain again after being a follower of You-Know-Who?"_

Potter was awaiting them, and they exchanged greetings quickly. "Let's move quickly before they antagonize you enough to say things you'll regret tomorrow," Potter told him, clapping him on the shoulder and leading the way.

Draco ground his teeth as they strode down the corridor. "Bloody vultures. The whole lot of them."

His mother hummed an agreement. "Just maintain, Draco. We'll get in and get out."

"I should have known they'd be here to assault me about Hermione," he hissed, and Alya squeezed his hand.

He looked down at his sister and she was staring up at him, her brows drawn with worry. He dropped her hand to sign to her. _"Don't worry, little one. Are you excited to see Father?"_

Alya nodded emphatically and Narcissa sighed. "I didn't want her to come—I knew it would be a fiasco. Especially with the attacks still continuing. But the child is strong willed and wouldn't take no for an answer."

"You're the parent, Mother. You could have put your foot down," Draco told her, rolling his eyes.

"Like I did with you so often?" she countered.

Draco glared at his mother from the side of his eye and she let out a clipped laugh, letting a little anxiety slip. "You were spoiled rotten," she told him, and he knew he couldn't argue with that.

Potter let out a barking laugh as they came to a nondescript door at the end of the corridor. "In here."

The room was barren, only the table and two chairs where he himself had been interrogated little more than a year prior. A door on the opposite wall would open in six minutes and his father would step through. Draco could feel his face beginning to heat, his hands shaking so much he had to pocket the one not clutching Alya's. "You okay, mate?" Potter asked him, looking at him as though he were afraid he may vomit. "You're turning an odd mix of green and splotchy red."

Draco blew a long exhale of breath through his mouth and shook his head. "It's not something I want to talk about, and not to you."

Potter nodded and glanced over at Narcissa where she was ringing her hands and frantically pushing her hair into its chignon. They were deafeningly silent as they waited. Alya was staring at the bespectacled man as she stood slightly behind Draco, smiling bashfully in his direction. "If someone would have told me two years ago we would be standing here—you with a sister, in love with my best friend, and not a complete prat—I never would have believed you," Potter commented, waving at Alya.

Draco glanced in his direction and scoffed. "If you told me I'd be leaning on you to find answers on who took the love of my life away from me, and the answer wasn't the Dark Lord, I would have rather died."

Potter pursed his lips and crossed his arms as he sat back against the table. "I'm going to kill whoever did this to her, I assure you." 

"You let me know the time and place and I'm there," Draco responded, grinding his teeth once more. "Has she asked about me?"

Potter looked guiltily at the floor. "She's asked plenty. I just don't know what all to tell her and what you want to be the one to share."

"Do you think she'll be open to seeing me soon?" Draco asked, and even he could hear the desperation in his voice.

His mother put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Potter shrugged slightly. "She hasn't explicitly asked to see you if that's what you're hoping to hear," they could hear footsteps in the corridor beyond the door, "but, you know Hermione. She'll get curious one day."

The doorknob turned, and Draco's anxiety was renewed as it opened, and his father's head of blond hair came into view behind two Aurors. His mother pushed past him and flung her arms around her husband's neck, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Alya dropped Draco's hand and ran to Lucius, who crouched to hug her tight. Potter was staring at him, Draco could feel it though he ignored it. He chose, instead, to bore holes in his father's forehead.

Draco set his jaw as his father watched Alya's hands fly, telling him how she wanted a cat and how much she loved France and how Draco had promised to take her to get her first broom soon. Lucius let out a hoarse laugh as she frantically tried to cram every moment of the last year into the first three seconds she was with him. _"We will talk about anything you want when we get home. Let me say hello to your brother."_

Draco stiffened and watched as his mother pulled Alya away and Lucius Malfoy rose to his feet once more. Heat was rising from his chest and flooding his cheeks as he felt the eyes of Potter, his family and the two Aurors bounce between he and his father. He swallowed down a lump forming painfully in his throat and his teeth hurt from clenching them so hard.

Time in Azkaban had turned the once proud patriarch of the Malfoy family sickly. His skin had a horrid grey pallor, the skin of his neck forever marred with runes and numbers denoting his identity for the last year. He had thinned to near skin and bones, his cheeks hollowed beneath violet-ringed eyes. His hair was dull and hung limply around his shoulders, shoulders that sagged a little more at the seething look from his son. "Son," he finally rasped, his eyes flickering over Draco.

His son was no longer a child, but a man. A man who had learned the best of what this world had to offer, loved and lost, grown and had been redeemed. In one short year, Draco Malfoy had surpassed the man his father could only ever hope to be and they both knew it. "Father."

His mother and Alya were both looking between them both, Alya with confusion and Narcissa with an anxious sadness. Draco's heart was pounding, and the blood was rushing behind his ears, his hands vibrating dangerously once more. He knew he needed to act, for his mother's sake, as much as it pained him. Taking three large strides, he stood in front of the man he held more bitter contempt for than he ever had for the Dark Lord. The man who should have protected him and failed. He held his hand out and his father took it, pulling Draco in for a half-hug. "We'll talk later," his father managed, and Draco could hear it was thick with emotion.

Reluctantly, Draco buried his chin in the elder wizard's shoulder and raised his free hand to return the hug. "You won't like what I have to say."

His father released him with a hoarse laugh. "No, I'd venture to say it's going to be brutal."

Draco huffed a laugh and Lucius moved to take the hands of his mother and sister. Potter led the way out, muttering a quick, "Brace yourselves," while the other two Aurors stood to their sides. Weasley was waiting in the corridor and stood behind them, effectively creating a protective diamond. "You look like shit," he commented to Draco.

"I feel like shit," was all Draco said as a reply.

Weasley grunted and clapped Draco on the back, a strange sign of camaraderie coming from the redhead. "I stopped in at the Grangers' today. She asked me a strange question, one I think I answered truthfully."

Draco's eyes rose from the floor to look over his shoulder at Weasley. "What?"

"She asked me if you'd ever made her cry."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "And what did you tell her?"

Weasley smirked at him and held his wand at the ready as they prepared to walk out into the atrium. "I told her no—but I had."

Draco didn't even know how to respond to such information. It was peculiar, having both Weasley and Potter on his side and he was uncertain as to their motives. They both seemed genuine enough and he wondered why they were so readily helping him. He would have assumed Hermione's obliviation had been the perfect reset, a way to rid her of his parasitic ways. Instead, Potter was yelling at the journalists to back up, to give them space. _"Harry, how does it feel to stand alongside Draco Malfoy, knowing he may have attacked your friend?"_ That journalist got a spectacular silencing hex sent her way, courtesy of Harry Potter.

" _Draco, how is your life getting on without Hermione?"_

" _Lucius, how do you feel about Draco and Hermione's relationship? She's a muggle-born and you've notoriously been against mingling of blood types."_

" _Narcissa, will you be seeking a divorce?"_

" _Narcissa, why did you hide Alya away for so long, was it because you knew Lucius would give her as a sacrifice to You-Know-Who?"_

The questions were preposterous, each one worse than the last. They were hustled toward the floo and a silencing charm was cast around them as Narcissa said the location of their French villa. The Aurors created a wall and Draco nodded to the two thirds of the Trio present.

Arriving in the sitting room of the villa, Lucius collapsed into the nearest chair. "Anyone care to get me up to speed? Hermione? Granger?"

"Lucius," Narcissa warned as Leta, the house elf, appeared.

"Master Malfoy! What can Leta get for you?"

"Tea and some of your famous biscuits?"

Draco sat stiffly on the couch next to his mother and Alya went to sit on the arm of the chair next to their father. His father eyed him curiously through his haggard exhaustion. "So? Hermione Granger?"

Draco ran his palms—suddenly sweaty—over the legs of his trousers. "Father. I want to speak, and I refuse to listen if you start in with the old ways."

"Merlin, boy, what is it?"

"She's a lovely young witch, Luc—" 

"We're engaged," Draco said bluntly. "Or, we were…it's complicated."

His father's eyebrows rose toward his hairline and his lips pressed together. "Engaged? But she's a Mud—"

The withering look Draco shot his way shut him right up. "I'm well aware of her blood status, Father. I'm also aware that I couldn't give a single fuck."

His mother's eyes darted to Alya, who was attempting to read lips, and then to his father. "Draco, watch your language," she reprimanded for the second time that day.

Lucius stared at him, his eyes narrowed, and he rubbed a hand over his chin. Draco refused to allow his father to rule over a single aspect of his life again and could feel anger welling that he would attempt to negate everything he had shared with Hermione over something as simple as _blood status._ "You are in no position to try and make a single comment about my life's choices when your choices led us to the mess we're in now," he hissed through clenched teeth, standing and pointing with a shaking hand.

Alya leaned back and Lucius wrapped an arm around her, hugging his daughter close for the first time in his own home. "Calm yourself, son. So, you're in love with a muggle-born," he said the word as though he were attempting to speak another language, with his brows knit and a frown on his lips, "but what happened? The crowd at the Ministry were screaming about an attack?"

Draco turned his back on his family, looking instead out of the large window at the enchanted vineyard. Elves were working hard, plucking grapes from the vines already and he absurdly wondered how the recently-pregnant elf was getting along with her new babe. "Draco, why don't you go upstairs and have a lie down? It's been a long morning," his mother suggested softly.

His head hung as images of the times he had spent with Hermione flashed across his memory, culminating with the confused and disturbed look when she first saw him after her attack. "Someone attacked us in Diagon Alley. There has been a long string of attacks on the families of Death Eaters," he said as calmly as he could muster.

He turned and stared his father down, throwing every angry emotion he held into the piercing gaze. It was his fault he had ever been forced to take the Mark, his fault they were forever entwined with the Dark Lord's abysmal legacy, _his_ fault they had all faced down death every moment for more than a year. Draco's entire body was shaking with anger and sadness and a hurt betrayal he hadn't allowed himself to feel wholly since he had begun courting Granger. "And since _I_ was a Death Eater, the attacker took the one person he knew I would rather die than lose. The others—missing, murdered. But he knew it would hurt me more to keep her alive and just out of my reach."

Lucius was running a hand over Alya's hair, staring at a place near Draco's foot. Draco took great delight in the shame that filled his eyes. "So, what will you do now?" his father finally asked.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, crossing his arms.

"Draco's going to try and make her fall in love with him all over again while trying to research how to bring her memories back," his mother said, staring at her husband as though he were wasting breath to ask such ridiculous questions.

"And what about the apprenticeship? Did you obtain the apprenticeship with Maurice Deschamps?" Lucius questioned, running a hand over his face.

Draco glowered from his place in front of the window, his arms still crossed as the two men regarded one another. "Yes. But what the fuck good is it now? My life is nothing with Hermione and I will not go play Potions Master and move on like the last year meant nothing!"

"It was only a year," Lucius began slowly, and Draco pointed at him once more.

"Don't! Don't you dare negate my life with her because it was so short lived! I could have had her all along if it weren't for you!" Draco seethed, taking two steps forward.

Never before had he spoken out against his father. But he could feel himself growing out of control more with every second that passed, and the thought flickered through his mind that he might actually hit him. Lucius patted Alya to move away from him so he could stand as well. Draco tried to ignore the way his clothing hung from his skeletal frame, tried to bite back the guilt that his father had been home for all of five minutes and they were already coming to blows, tried to contain his wrath though he wanted to hex his father. "Son, maybe this is meant to be a sign. You're meant to be a Master Potioneer. You're allowing romantic dalliances to cloud your judgment—"

"I'm leaving," Draco bit out. "I'm leaving before I do something we will both regret."

"Draco," his mother tried, touching his arm.

Alya was standing behind the couch, frightened as she had never seen her brother look so ferocious. "No, Mother. I tried to be civil, but he is just as narrow minded as he was before the War. I'm leaving. If I stay, he or I will end up in St. Mungo's."

"You dare speak so disrespectfully?" his father demanded.

"Respect is earned, Father. I idolized you once. It took me nearly being murdered by the Dark Lord and being pushed to the brink of insanity when I was sixteen to see how skewed your perspective of the world truly is. I could have had Hermione all these years. Time wasted because of your enforced bigotry!"

With that, Draco spun on his heel and apparated out of the villa. He landed in his living room at the townhouse and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His fury was beginning to bubble over and he needed to release the energy. Walking down the corridor leading to the bedroom, he was stopped by his reflection in the mirror. He stared at himself, noting how thoroughly depleted he looked.

His reflection seemed to mock him, and he brought a fist up and smashed through it. One reflection split into hundreds as he let out a shriek of pain and umbrage. He stomped toward the bathroom and did the same to the vanity mirror. Finally stopping in his room, he grabbed the half bottle of firewhiskey and unscrewed the cap, letting it fall to the ground with a clatter.

If these fucking emotions persisted, he would simply drink enough to forget why they refused to let up.

o-o-o

Draco stumbled slightly as he pried himself from the bed long after nightfall. His head was already pounding from the alcohol, his throat raw from the cinnamon. The reminder on his breath was a cruel one, a skewed version of the sweet scent of his witch. The Hermit card was clutched in his hand as he made his way to the bathroom in the hall, to the cache of medical potions he kept there.

His arms were covered in blood and long gashes, mostly dried up as they day had worn on. His sock clad feet crunched over broken glass and he grunted as he opened the cupboard to retrieve the desired potions. The vial of pepper-up was empty and he groaned in frustration, tossing the bottle against the bathtub, where it smashed as well.

"Fucking shit," he muttered, looking over what remained.

A vial of Dreamless Draught. Enough headache potions to induce a peaceful slumber. A Forgetful potion. All had proved to be useless since he had lost Hermione. He uncorked each and shot them back in turn, wincing at the horrid combined flavor.

He shuffled down the corridor into the sitting room, whistling for his owl. The letter he had penned sat on the coffee table and he rolled it tightly. "Bring this to Hermione, Hades," he told the owl, running a finger over his feathers.

The owl was disgusted by the caked blood on his hands and Draco huffed a laugh. He glanced at the clock—nearly three in the morning. "And, Hades, don't wake her. Be patient—she'll give you lots of treats, as you well remember."

The owl hooted happily at the reminder and Draco opened the window, watching the regal bird take flight through blurry eyes. He stared out at the quiet streets of Hogsmeade for a few moments—only a single witch, the one who ran the parchment store, was walking along the cobblestone pavement. He closed the window and tapped his fingers against the sill. _Why the fuck aren't these potions working? To think—I wanted to be a Master Potioneer and can't even brew a fucking proper potion to pass the fuck out._

He found himself in the bathroom once more, drinking down the entirety of the contents of the cabinet. His father's cruel words rang through his pounding head. _It was only a year…maybe this is meant to be a sign. You're meant to be a Master Potioneer._ Father. What the fuck did he understand about love? He didn't even love his family enough to give them a decent life. Instead he led them straight to the Dark Lord's icy grasp.

He looked at the Hermit card in his hand once more, the polaroid he always carried of his girl. A fingertip caressed over her face as she smiled up at him and he felt his heart clench. Merlin, he missed her. He wished he could hear her melodic laugh once more, to feel her tiny hands as she ran her fingers through his hair.

Draco made his way down the corridor into the sitting room before he felt himself swoon. He swayed on the spot and the room began to dance dangerously in front of his eyes. The alcohol and potions were finally mixing dangerously in his stomach and he thought he would be sick. He took a step and decided against it when his body felt as though he were stuck to the floor. A flash of orange and Crookshanks was at his side, meowing up at him. "Oh, Croooo…"

He could not find the words as he felt his entire body waver and then he was careening toward the floor. Everything went black and Draco finally had his moment of peace. Crookshanks was meowing, pawing at his master with a jittery apprehension. On his right ring finger, Draco's signet ring began to heat up and the 'M' glowed a deep emerald.

o-o-o

A/N: Please review! And, yes, we get to see Hermione's POV next chapter. Poor Draco. How I love to torture him. Special thanks again to Caprubia for listening to me as I revised my plans for this story for the eightieth time. And I promise, the sun will shine soon.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Suicidal thoughts and overdose triggers apply. Kind of. Better err on the side of caution.**_

Chapter 6:

Hermione was roused from her bed by a sturdy tapping at her window. She hadn't been sleeping anyway, tossing and turning being her new normal since the attack. She tried, without success, to clear her mind of the thoughts plaguing her constantly. Draco Malfoy's face, as he looked now—healthy, mature, even more handsome than he had at sixteen—refused to let her rest.

A regal looking owl was perched on her windowsill and she knew who its master was before she even slid the window open. Hermione hesitated, her hands on the bottom of the window as she stared at the bird. She had asked him to give her time, but she couldn't begin to imagine what he was going through. He still held the memories of their life together and had to carry on each day, knowing she was refusing to see him.

Her hands shook slightly as she opened the window and the bird pushed his way in with an indignant hoot at her hesitance. Hermione laughed lightly—he was definitely Malfoy's. He hopped along her desk after dropping the letter in front of her, searching out treats. She ran a hand over his feathers and opened a drawer in her desk, retrieving a small handful of nibbles. "What's your name, boy?" she asked, turning his collar over to reveal a simple pewter tag. _Hades._

"Well, Hades, I don't have a cage for you to spend the night," she told him, transfiguring a paperclip into a small dish to fill with water, "but you can stay as long as you like."

The owl made a contented fluttering noise as he perched on the end of her desk. Hermione knew she couldn't keep distracted with the strange owl any longer and turned to the letter he had plopped in front of her. It was in a sleek green envelope, silver writing across the front. _'My Beloved Witch.'_ A lump rose in her throat as she slid a finger under the seal to open it.

Hermione plucked the letter from its envelope and sat down in the chair, unsure if her wobbling legs would hold her up once she read the words he had clearly poured his heart into. She took note that his handwriting was an elegant and sharp script, neat and structured. Small areas were blurred and looked to be tear-stained. The thought of him shedding tears as he tried, once more, to convince her of his love tore at her. Her hand went up and wrapped around the front of her throat as she tried to massage the sobs away.

She ran her fingertips over the letters, feeling the slight indentation of his script, the crispy little spots where his tears had curled the parchment. _"My dearest Hermione, I cannot even begin to describe to you the aching I feel in my heart, growing ever more painful with every minute that passes without you by my side…"_

Hermione silenced the room from her parents' eavesdropping with a hiccup as her eyes danced over the letter. _"I'm here, waiting, and I shall never go."_ Hades cocked his head to the side and hopped to where she sat, pecking at her wrist. She raised a hand to run over his dark feathers, wiping at her eyes with her other. _"A scrying mirror brought you to me."_ Her brow wrinkled and she narrowed her eyes as she read of her Seeing abilities. Her heart was pounding dangerously in her chest. _Divination?_ Something as ridiculous and completely ludicrous as _divination_ had brought her and Malfoy together? She nearly scoffed at the idea, but something niggling at her brain stopped her. The image was hazy, but she saw Malfoy flopping back against a bed—her bed she noted as she looked at the quilt behind her—and covering his eyes with his arm, a blush spreading across the parts of his face that were visible.

Her lips parted as the scene fizzled out and she felt an anxious uncertainty welling inside of her. Her heart was thumping and she thought instantly of the charmed necklace he had given her. Sliding the drawer next to her open, she retrieved the necklace carefully. Hermione found herself holding it throughout the days, seeking some solace from the knowledge that the steady pulsing belonged to a heart that she had once held so tenderly in her own.

Her palm closed around the charm and the comfort she sought never came. The pulsing was so faint that she wasn't sure she was actually feeling a pulsing from the bauble or if it was her own blood pulsing in her veins. It was disconcerting, for it to emit nothing and she wondered if the charm had worn off in their separation. She returned to reading, her lip tucked between her teeth so harshly, she could taste the coppery blood she'd drawn.

He had methods of showing her their past, memories he was collecting, journals and love letters. All would be helpful, but she found herself wishing she had remained in Divination long enough to know whether an obliviation would affect a Seer's Inner Eye. _Me, a Seer._ It was almost more absurd a concept to try and wrap her mind around than the fact that she had been in love with Draco Malfoy.

" _I love you, Hermione Granger. Until the day I die, I will fight for you. I promise you this. With all of my heart and soul, your Draco."_ Your Draco. Hades cuddled up to her, clearly familiar with her, as she wept openly. She looked at the miniature white peacock feather housed within the charm, wishing for the soft rhythm to return. Why couldn't she feel his heartbeat?

Something began to lurch in the pit of her stomach. A feeling of unease as she looked at the beautiful owl's inquisitive eyes. His heartbeat had been strong and evident, any time she had sought the charm in the drawer. Why, now, after all these days, was it missing? The end of his letter stated he wouldn't contact her first, and yet he had. Why? It felt as though her stomach was tying itself in knots and she thought she would be sick. _Something is wrong._

Hermione could not shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Her hands shook as she rose and made her way quickly to the fireplace to floo call Harry. "Harry? Harry!" she yelled as firmly as possible.

o-o-o

Lucius Malfoy knew he should be thrilled to be in his own bed, his faithful wife curled into his side. After so many agonizing nights sleeping on little more than an elevated board in his cell in Azkaban, he found sleep was still eluding him. After the altercation with his son, he had spoken, at length, with Cissy about the Mudblood. _No, Muggle-born._ She had drilled into his mind that Draco was suffering through an immense anguish at losing the one person who could truly match him in every way.

Guilt ate away at Lucius' already weakened mind. He was not deluded enough to think that his poor choices had not ruined his entire family. His wife was splashed across the papers, her entire life and loyalty called into question. His daughter had been raised in a makeshift orphanage, far removed from the love of her family. And Draco. He knew he had failed his son most of all. His deficiencies with the Dark Lord had led to his imprisonment and Draco had stepped forth, determined to save his family.

Lucius admired Draco, the courageous man he had grown to become even before the Final Battle. Cissy told countless stories of the man Granger had helped him to become, how complete she made his broken soul. _A thousand years of pure breeding wasted._ Abraxas Malfoy would roll in his grave if he knew his grandson had nearly married a Muggle-born.

He looked over at his wife as she slept. Her features, so delicate as she slumbered, glowed by the light of the dying fire. His own father had threatened to disown him when he had broken the marital contract between him and Harriet Rosier after falling in love with Narcissa. The Rosiers had not been pleased and had threatened retribution, but Lucius and Narcissa had hardly cared. He vowed that nothing would come between them, least of all his father. And here he was, trying to come between Draco and his witch.

Lucius laid back against his pillows and scrubbed a hand over his thin face. He had to go and fall in love with the most well-known muggle-born in the wizarding world. A corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile—Draco always had been the _go big or go home_ type. As he covered his eyes with one cupped palm, the metal of his signet ring began to heat. He pulled his hand away and glanced at the ring on his finger. The 'M' was alight and the heat increased to near scalding. _Something is wrong._

Lucius rose from the bed, brushing the hair from his wife's forehead. Her steady breaths filled the silence and he walked swiftly from the room and down the corridor toward Alya's room. She couldn't hear him enter, but she turned over and let out a soft snore. His feet carried him quickly back to his wife. "Cissy. _Cissy! Get up!"_

"Luc, what is it?" Narcissa asked, blinking away the sleep from her eyes.

"Narcissa, something is wrong with Draco," he told her, transfiguring his silk sleep clothing into a set of robes.

She sat up and threw the covers off, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "What do you mean?"

"My ring," he said by way of answer, holding out the area on his right ring finger where the metal had burned a blister into his skin. "Where would he be?"

"Probably at home," she replied, throwing a housecoat over her nightgown.

"Where is home? _Leta!_ " Lucius called.

"Hogsmeade—"

The house elf, clad in a sleeping cap and long-sleeved gown, appeared. "Master Malfoy? How can Leta serve you?"

"You are to keep a close eye on Alya. I do not know for how long," he instructed, taking his wife's hand.

He side-along apparated them both directly into Hogsmeade before Narcissa could, though it only occurred to him, as he stared at the Three Broomsticks darkened windows, that he didn't know exactly _where_ in Hogsmeade Draco lived. Narcissa took off at a run around the corner and there was a long row of townhouses. Ahead, he saw two shadowy figures. His hand closed around his wand—he was on restricted use and was already risking quite a bit in leaving the villa, but he would gladly commit murder if anyone were to harm his kin.

"Hermione!" Narcissa called, moving as fast as she could in house slippers.

The two figures turned in unison and as they drew closer, Lucius recognized Hermione Granger and Harry Potter standing in the soft light of the street lamp. "Something is wrong!" the younger witch spat, looking up at the door to the last townhouse.

"I know," Lucius replied, feeling a blood ward rippling in front of him. "Why are you out here?"

"We were getting ready to send a corporeal patronus," Potter explained, looking dazed. "She's convinced something is wrong with Draco. Which I suspect is correct, since you two are here."

"I know how to get in, come along," Narcissa told them collectively.

She pricked her finger with the end of her wand and dropped three spots of crimson on the cobblestones. They all linked hands and ran through the ward, then up the stairs. "It's no use. I tried to open the door. There's more than a blood ward surrounding it!" Granger shrieked, her voice nearing hysterics.

Narcissa raised her hand and tapped the door in a strange circular pattern, the tempo familiar to Lucius. _"Callidiferoxium,"_ she whispered and the door clocked open.

"What?" Potter muttered, following them all in.

"Draco!" Narcissa screeched, rushing into the home.

Lucius entered after the two witches and nearly knocked Granger down as she stopped in front of him. Her hand went over her mouth and she turned away from the sight, hugging her arms close around her. Draco was lying on the floor near the coffee table, blood pooling around his head where it appeared he had hit it as he fell. Scratches and scrapes littered his hands and forearms. He barely had time to register all of the broken glass or Potter commanding Granger to send that corporeal patronus to Weasley and another Auror as he began a sweep of the space. He fell to his knees by his son's side, his wife's scream of, "He's barely breathing!" echoing in his head.

o-o-o

"He's awake," Narcissa Malfoy proclaimed to the entirety of the waiting room.

All eyes turned toward Hermione and she stood slowly, her hands stuck steadfastly to her sides to keep them from shaking too badly. Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "He won't want to see me. This is all my fault."

Narcissa looked at her in a way that told Hermione that, over the last year, they had grown closer as well. "Hermione, you're the only person he wants to see."

"What do I say to him?" she asked, anxiety filling her completely.

"'Hello' would be a good place to start," Narcissa laughed bitterly, touching Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione wrung her hands and her bottom lip was being bruised between her teeth once more. She looked at the door to the hospital room where Malfoy lay, likely waiting for her. What would she say to him? She had rehearsed their first real encounter many times, never quite pinning down anything remotely strong enough. All of the nights of lying awake as confusion and frustration coursed through her were coming to the forefront, threatening to overtake her. She loved him once, not even that long ago. His letter, the beautiful words he had penned to her, clearly revealed to her what they had shared.

She gave a single nod and Ron stood to join she and Harry. "Do you want us to go in with you?"

"No. I—I think I need to do this alone," she told them, hugging them each in turn before her feet carried her toward the door.

Hesitating for a moment as she took a deep breath in, she rapped her knuckles against the wood softly. "Yeah?" she heard the gruff male voice from beyond.

Her eyes met Narcissa, who was smiling encouragingly. Ron and Harry both looked worried but stood idly by. Lucius was pacing and his eyes flickered to meet hers only briefly before he turned around to walk back toward the large windows. Her voice was caught in her throat as she turned the knob and stepped into his room.

Malfoy was lying in a bed of sterile white, his head back against the pillows. He had bandages wrapped around the spot on his head and both of his wrists and palms were wrapped at his sides. Upon seeing her, he lifted his head weakly and tried to scoot back to sit up straighter. "Hermione!"

She crossed the room to where he lay and placed a hand behind his back to maneuver the pillows. "Don't try to move on account of me. You need to rest."

"You came," he uttered, his voice raw as he lifted a hand toward her.

Hermione stared down at the grey eyes, sparkling in earnest as he bit the inside of his cheek. Turmoil surged through her, contradictions fighting to surface. Confusion. Frustration. Anger. Emptiness. Relief. Longing. Loneliness. It felt like it should be impossible to feel so many warring emotions. Her lip quivered and she reached up and pinched his upper arm stiffly. He jumped and put a hand over the spot as she collapsed down on his bedside. "What was that for?" he asked indignantly, rubbing his hand over his arm.

"You tried to kill yourself?" she finally choked. "I ask you for time and you try to _kill yourself_? How could you?"

"No," he answered, horrified. "No, it wasn't a botched suicide attempt."

"So, you didn't purposely drink your weight in whiskey and down a deadly cocktail of potions?" she hissed.

Their first real conversation, initiated by her, and he was already lying to her. How could anyone expect her to trust him? His hand lifted from the bed to rest on her thigh. It crossed her mind to push him away, but something about the heat his fingertips emitted felt too right to let go of just yet. "I did all of those things. But I just wanted one night of sleep. Not an eternal rest."

Hermione lifted her eyes from the floor to look into his. "Why should I believe you?"

His hand lifted, and he brushed her curls over her shoulder. It felt familiar, in a déjà vu sense—she knew he had touched her so delicately in the past—they had been in a relationship after all—but she felt it. Deep in her chest, the brush of his hand on her shoulder caused her heart to beat swiftly. "Last year, when the world was crushing down on me, the weight of all of my indiscretions, I went to the top of the Astronomy Tower."

"No," Hermione breathed, reaching for his hand where he had rested it on her thigh once more.

"I was going to jump, to bring an end to it all—all of the hurt and suffering I felt, yes. But all of the anguish my presence was bringing to others. The reminders," he explained quietly. "The only thing that stopped me was thoughts of you. You had been so kind to me, looked beyond my past and made me face my future—a future I was beginning to see with you. I promised you time and again in the months that followed that I would never do that to myself and leave you to pick up the pieces. That was the first day you held my hand," he mentioned, looking down at their hands and lacing his fingers with hers.

Her lack of resistance was giving Malfoy a hesitant bravery. She gently ran her fingers over the magically-healing cuts and scrapes on his knuckles. "I can't imagine how difficult this has been for you."

"Me? At least I still have the memories of you. I know everything about you and you have nothing," he told her, the haunted look she was more familiar with from sixth year resurfacing. "This is all my fault. Retribution for my past mistakes."

"It's not your fault, Malfoy," she replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Everyone tells me that you've been making amends with those you'd wronged. You get along with Ron!"

A small smile tugged at his lips. "We tolerate one another."

Hermione laughed lightly, and it seemed to touch parts of Malfoy's soul as he closed his eyes to the sound. "I've missed that gentle hum of your magic. The watch is nothing compared to being with you."

She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head as she regarded him. Storing the watch comment away for later, she asked, "You can feel my magic?"

"Can't you feel mine? It's a soft caressing dance between our two cores," he murmured.

Hermione sat still, staring into his eyes as she tried to feel something. There was a strange sensation, a tentative scratching feeling, but it wasn't the soothing feeling he described. It was the same as she had felt the last time she had been in this hospital with him. "I'm not sure. It's kind of…tickling."

Malfoy laughed, and she was taken at the throaty sound of it. Her face began to burn, and she looked away from him. "You don't have to be embarrassed. I know I'm devilishly handsome and that you find me _irresistible_."

Hermione giggled nervously and swatted his side. "Are you sure we," she gestured between them, "were in love? Because you are _insufferable_."

"I'm still fully in love," he corrected, running a thumb over the back of her hand. "And, besides, you already admitted that you _deeply fancied_ me before last year."

She let out a groan and drew her feet up to rest on the side of the bed, dropping her face into her hand as she leaned on her knee. Malfoy laughed beside her once more and she swallowed down the butterflies flapping up her esophagus. "I miss you," he told her and the guilt threatened her calm façade.

"I wish I could say the same," Hermione told him truthfully, placing her free hand over her heart. "I wish I could say _anything_ that would make you feel better."

He lifted his free hand to silence her. "You came here today. That's enough for right now. My mother tells me that you saved my life."

She reached into her bag and lifted out the heartbeat charm. It was pulsing quickly in her palm now and she fought the urge to place a hand over his heart to see if the beats did, indeed, match. "I couldn't feel you anymore."

Malfoy's mood was shifting and he looked as though he were going to cry, though no tears fell. "You had my necklace in your hand at three in the morning?"

She shrugged one shoulder. How could she possibly explain the war going on in her own mind when she herself didn't fully understand it? "I can't put it into words."

"Try," he urged gently.

"With obliviation…you aren't supposed to remember anything or… _feel_ anything," she began.

"Do you remember something?" he questioned, sitting up further, fully alert as he studied her face.

She looked up at him, her lips parted. "I don't know. I feel like I'm missing something. Like there's this whole part of me that's been ripped from my body. It's a queer, persistent aching that never fades. At first, I thought it was frustration at not being able to recall the last couple of years. But, sitting here with you—"

"It's more," he finished, his lips curving up in a hopeful smile.

The distinct and prevalent optimism written on his features dug at her. "Yeah," she replied, looking away from him as she nodded. "And then, when I was reading your letter—"

"What letter?" he asked, his eyes wide.

Hermione furrowed her brow and reached into her bag to retrieve the letter that had led her to him. "I received it about the same time I realized something was wrong."

"Fuck," he hissed, dropping his head back against the bed. "I must have sent it after I'd drank too much."

He appeared wholly ashamed by his actions the evening before and she intertwined their hands again. "I've been wanting to write to you for days now. But I never know what to say," she admitted. "What could I possibly say to someone who so clearly is suffering because of my absence, who loves me so much and whom I loved just as fiercely? It feels like a foggy dream—one you wake up from and you can't remember much about. But when people begin telling me about us, what they say makes sense."

"You could have written to me and simply said hello," he told her softly.

She snorted a short laugh and he raised an eyebrow. "Your mother told me to do the same. Just come in here and say hello. Like it's the easiest thing in the world."

"I meant everything I wrote, Hermione. I understand if it makes you uncomfortable—if I'm coming on too strong," he said quietly, lowering his gaze.

"I don't even know what I think or feel anymore. I'm just so confused by everything," she confessed, wishing she could just curl up alongside him and wake up in the life everyone kept telling her she lost.

"I can show you," he told her. "I've been collecting memories from all of our friends to give to you."

Of course. _The memories. The scrying mirror._ "Have you researched an obliviation's effect on Seeing? I haven't had a chance to, obviously."

The smile that crossed Malfoy's face made their interaction worthwhile. "I have a few books. Some say you may be able to recount visions of your past. Of course, some say you can't. Have you come across a scrying mirror in your belongings?" he questioned, clearly growing excited at the prospect of testing the theory.

"No," she shook her head.

He waved his hand. "Nevermind it. We'll buy you a new one. I was planning on going into Diagon Alley Saturday to ask around about the attack."

"Harry and Ron have already done that—"

"I don't care, I want to see people's reactions and hear their words for myself. I'll purchase a new mirror for you," he told her as though the matter was settled.

"I'm going with you."

He shook his head. "Absolutely not. It was reckless for you to come out to find me, no matter how grateful I will forever be. Going into Diagon Alley is what got us into this mess."

"Harry and Ron will come. I can go with you or I can go alone," she told him, her jaw set in determination.

Malfoy pursed his lips, visibly agitated with her pushiness, but she could tell he would not pass up the opportunity to spend the day with her. "Dammit. Potter and Weasley and two more Aurors. One to watch every angle."

There was a sharp knock at the door and Lucius Malfoy's face peered into the room. "Miss Granger. The vultures have arrived and if you want to sneak away before they can figure out exactly where Draco is resting, you may want to go now."

Hermione looked at Malfoy's face, to his storm-cloud grey eyes as they watched her move, down to their clasped hands and close proximity. She realized then how grateful she was that he had made it out of that townhouse alive. She had no idea what she would do without him and the notion that she had no right or reason to feel that way threatened to overwhelm her as she dropped his hand and slid from the bed. "Saturday."

Malfoy lifted a corner of his lips into a half-smile and lifted a hand in a half-wave. "Saturday."

o-o-o

Lucius watched as the swotty little witch left the room with an awkward shuffle. He then looked to his son, who was staring at her retreating form with a grin on his face. Once the door closed behind her, Draco lifted his eyes to his, his smile falling.

Lucius pulled a chair up close to the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Son," he began, still, after so many hours of waiting for Draco to awaken, unsure of what to say.

"Father. If you are going to say a single thing about Hermione and me, you can leave now. I won't listen to it," his son stated simply, and Lucius felt a stone settle in his gut as the tension filled the air between them.

The elder Malfoy reached into his pocket and pulled out a tarot card and a photograph of Miss Granger. He placed them on the bed beside Draco, who looked at the items with a fondness that confused Lucius. "I feel like I don't even know you anymore," Lucius stated simply. "Overdosing on potions, partaking in dalliances of fancy like Divination, falling in love with a War heroine."

"I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment to you, Father. Your only heir, a Mudblood lover," he hissed sardonically and Lucius winced.

"Draco, please. I'm not in here to fight," Lucius said, putting his hands up in surrender. "I'm trying to apologize to you, even if it comes too little, too late. You would have died if I had still been in prison. If this were one day earlier. Miss Granger—she was there at your home, but she couldn't remember how to get into it. Do you have any idea what that would have done to your mother? Your sister? To me?"

Draco glared at him and he dropped his face into his hands to avoid his son's scathing stare. "I couldn't live with myself if something had happened to you. I have failed you many times over and I cannot begin to make amends for such horrific aggrievances. You have nearly died because of me on more than one occasion, but the thought of you dying by your own hand," Lucius' chin trembled and he placed a hand over it to steady it, "that's even more painful to imagine than the Dark Lord claiming you. To think that I could have lost you—"

His voice trailed off as he cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. Malfoy men were never weak and he had already shown far too much softness. His tears had been shed in private, whiling away the endless days and nights in Azkaban. Draco was staring at the photograph of his witch, running a finger over her bouncing curls fondly, his jaw set angrily. "I wasn't _trying_ to kill myself. I promised Granger a year ago that I wouldn't."

Lucius' eyebrows rose at the admission, but he simply nodded, wondering at the hardships his son had faced after the War. A few moments of thick silence passed. "Did you know that I was bonded in an arranged marriage to Harriet Rosier?" he asked, and Draco's eyes flickered up to his.

"But you and Mother—"

"Were wildly in love," Lucius finished. "Merlin, son, I never thought I could get enough of her. My father was furious, as were the Rosier parents, naturally. I very narrowly avoided being cut from the Malfoy fortune for my insolence."

Draco furrowed his brow and shifted his weight in the bed. "What happened?"

"Harriet Rosier turned up pregnant with Corban Yaxley's baby," Lucius laughed, nodding at the memory of his father triumphantly burning the marriage contract in front of the paled Rosier parents. "You're missing the point. I was _never_ going to marry Harriet Rosier. I risked my inheritance and the only family I had for love. I vowed to make Narcissa Black my wife, regardless of the consequence."

"You expect me to believe that you're okay with me trying to regain Hermione's love?" Draco questioned skeptically.

Lucius pursed his lips as he thought about his answer carefully. "No. Because, quite frankly, the Malfoy bloodline is centuries old and unsoiled. Regardless of whether she's a fabulous witch or not, to know my pristine bloodline will end with you is most displeasing."

Draco opened his mouth to speak and Lucius held up his hand to silence him. "I wasn't finished. With that being said, you are going to pursue Miss Granger regardless of my acceptance. I've made a menagerie of mistakes in the last few years and seeing you nearly lifeless as the Healers fought to revive you," he cleared his throat once more, trying to push away the thoughts of his only son's narrow escape from death, "made me realize that I don't want to be a constant disappointment in your life. One thing I will not budge away from is you accepting Maurice's apprenticeship and Miss Granger is on my side with regards to your future. As I'm sure she will tell you soon enough."

Draco's tense jaw slackened some as he put his head back into his pillows and pocketed the photograph and tarot card into his hospital gown's breast pocket. "Everything is so fucked up," he lamented, crossing his arms.

Lucius scoffed a subtle laugh at his son's brash language. "That it is, son. That it is. But, at least, you have Saturday to look forward to."

o-o-o

A/N: Please review! I tried to bring back that accepting and fierce personality of _Pariah's_ Hermione, muted only by the fact that she isn't exactly War-hardened any more. But I still feel as though she would have compassion for him, just as she did when she first saw him feeding the peacocks waaaay back in _The Art of Divination_.

I'm also really sorry about how slow updates are, not only on this, but all of my stories. But my real life is really getting in the way these days and I'm doing the best I can.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

Hermione was sitting on the edge of her bed, turning a tarot card over in her hands. _VI The Lovers._ She knew next to nothing about Divination—except, apparently, the inherent ability to scry—and didn't have a single book in her house that she could reference. When the card had toppled out of one of her school books, she had _almost_ gone down to her parents' computer to research the muggle way.

But her mother's prying eyes had kept her cooped up in her own room on the second floor. So much of her life was gone, taken by someone for reasons she didn't quite understand. No matter how she wished she could remember even a brief moment with Draco, nothing had come to her since the flash of him lying on her bedspread a few days before. The riddle of it all made her heart ache and her head thump, nearly dizzy with trying to piece it all together.

His face was near constant in her mind: the soft curve of his genuine smile, a sight she couldn't remember seeing for all of the smirks and hatred she recalled of him last; the shade of his eyes, not always liquid mercury, but sometimes stormy like a thundercloud in the night sky; the pretty blush that colored his cheeks when she spoke kindly to him for the first time since the attack.

Hermione flopped back into her bed and held the card high above her head, staring at the man and woman's faces. _The Lovers._ How on earth had she come into possession of such an item? Why didn't she have an entire deck? Why the one? The card only raised more questions than it answered. Never before had she put any merit into the art of divination. Professor Trelawney's fallacies and hokey predictions had soured her to it. Not to mention, she never had a knack for it anyway. Hermione Granger was rooted in logic and reason, not such fancies as _predicting the future._

Except, she _could_ predict the future. When her eyes closed, she could vividly remember purchasing the scrying mirror from the Divination section at Flourish and Blotts the summer before sixth year. It had been strikingly beautiful and she felt compelled to hold it, though she couldn't recall ever attempting to use it. Last she could recall, it had sat in her trunk at Hogwarts, untouched except for the times she would retrieve it just to run her fingers along the obsidian face.

There was a knock that sounded from the front door, faint to her where she lie in her bed on the second floor. Closing her eyes, Hermione listened as Ron greeted her parents and relieved her current bodyguard. " _She's upstairs. Hasn't come down all day,"_ came her mother's voice.

The relationship with her mother was more strained than it had ever been in her life, a side effect of her apparent choices regarding their safety. Hermione lie perfectly still as she listened to her mother's footsteps on the stairs—her right foot always landed heavier than her left—and wondered if she had the same strength today. Her parents were in imminent danger—because of her presence in their lives once more. But could she make the same choice, strip them of their freedom, knowing their reactions now?

Fortunately, her internal debates remained just that—secret—as the Ministry had placed around the clock surveillance of her, her wand, and her home.

There was a swift rapping of her mother's knuckles against her door. "Hermione? Ronald is here. He'd like to speak with you."

The tone of her mother's voice was agitated, unrelenting prejudice seeping out with every word she said. " _He doesn't belong here. Neither do you,"_ she seemed to say without voicing a single word of the like. Hermione sighed and sat up, tucking the tarot card underneath her pillow before heading to greet her mother.

"He just wants to give me a rundown of my trip to Diagon Alley," she told her, glancing toward the clock on her desk before closing the door behind her. "We should be heading there in a couple of hours."

"I really don't think this is smart," her mother said behind her as they walked down the stairs.

Hermione shrugged one shoulder. "I'm going with a team of Aurors. Ron and Harry...and Draco...would never let anything happen to me."

" _Draco_ already did! He's the reason you are in this mess!" her mother stated loudly, causing Ron to turn at the sound of her voice.

" _Draco_ ," the emphasis Hermione put on it here made it seem more like a slur and the thought made her stomach turn, "was not the one to attack me."

"How can you be so sure?"

Ron stepped in front of Hermione and stared at her mother. "Because we have thoroughly questioned him. He was also attacked if you'll recall. I never liked him, but I have to say, the slimy little ferret would never do this to Hermione."

Hermione grabbed Ron's shirt sleeve to get his attention. "Don't waste your breath. I have this argument five times a day."

"I just don't understand why you are so quick to believe this boy. You can't remember any of your relationship with him, and yet you are taking his word for the gospel truth!" her mother chided, her hands on her hips in a way that reminded Hermione of herself.

"I have told you a million times, mum," Hermione began, shoving Ron not-so-gently into the sitting room, "that I can't explain the trust I have in him. I just _feel_ it."

Her mother looked at her, a hint of betrayal in her eyes. The same look she had given her as McGonagall had sat with her and explained that she is, in fact, a witch. Hermione averted her eyes, her mother's sadness and shame too much for her to bear. "Tell me about Diagon Alley, Ron."

This was Ron's first watch at her house and he sat awkwardly, looking between Hermione and her mother with a scowl on his face. "We will surround you and Malfoy, a team of four Aurors: Myself, Harry, Michael, and Ernie Macmillan. Harry and I will take the front and back respectively, Michael to your left, Ernie to the right. We will each be responsible for keeping a lookout on every angle."

Something in the methodical way he spoke contradicted the way he was staring at her. "What is it, Ron?"

He ran a hand over his face and sat back into the sofa across from her. "I don't think this is wise, 'Mione. I really don't think you should be venturing into Diagon Alley. Not with someone lurking in the shadows and the media jumping down your throat."

"I don't think Hermione should be returning to that world at all," her mother quipped, and Hermione wished her father were home from work to mediate because she felt a storm brewing.

Ron looked at Jean as though she had lost her mind. "It's our world, _her_ world. She helped fight to make it safe for us all."

"And look how well that went—"

Ron's face began to turn scarlet, the tips of his ears burning. "What happened to Hermione is _not_ her fault. Someone is attacking loved ones of Death Eaters—"

"So it _is_ the Malfoy boy's fault," Jean crossed her arms triumphantly, a smirk on her face.

Ron shook his head vehemently. "No. No it's not. Malfoy has made every effort to assimilate back into wizarding society and has paid more reparations by himself than every other Death Eaters' families combined—this war and last."

"Money talks, and perhaps he wanted people to listen," Jean mentioned, and Hermione could feel her blood boiling at the way she was speaking of him, as though he were a common Dark wizard like the rest. "Maybe he wanted to gain people's trust so no one would suspect him in something like this."

" _Malfoy didn't attack me!"_ Hermione screeched, finally having enough of her mother's insinuations.

Her mother pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest, looking away from her daughter to peer out of the lace curtains to the world beyond. "Hermione. Be reasonable."

"What is reasonable, mum?"

"That world tried to kill you on more than one occasion. That should be a sign. You never fit in right there—the Malfoy boy himself made sure of that."

"I never fit in here, either! My _magic_ made sure of that!" Hermione quipped, her heart racing as she geared up for the argument she and her mother were careening toward.

"Exactly, Hermione! _It's not natural!"_

Ron stood, pulling Hermione's arm rather abruptly. "Hermione, go pack your things. You're going to the Burrow."

Her mother stood as well, opening and closing her mouth, as though she had so many arguments against this idea that she couldn't pinpoint one to voice. "Ron," Hermione began, jerking her arm from his grasp, "are you certain?"

"We will expand your surveillance team. I'd rather you stay in a world that appreciates you than to have to listen as your own _mother_ calls you unnatural!" he spat vehemently, nudging her toward the stairs. "Come on."

Hermione marched ahead of him, in silent awe of the stance he had taken against her mother. She felt a surge of love for him, admiration for the way he voiced his command. When she entered her room, her cheeks grew hot as she shut the door behind them. Ron had never been into her room, as many years as she had known him. Her schoolgirl crush—a crush that seemed like she'd had it just yesterday—surfaced as she fidgeted. Something—guilt, yes, but something even more pungent like _disgust_ —welled up in her at the idea.

Draco Malfoy had ruined her. The more he swam through her mind and thoughts, the more she found herself intrigued by him and the further from her fancying of Ron she grew.

Ron looked around her room with one eyebrow quirked. "Typical of you. Bookshelves busting at the seams. Mum will put you up in Percy's old room—he's got plenty I'm sure you could lust over."

Hermione exchanged a glance and then set to work, a few flicks of her wand sending everything sailing toward her school trunk. Clothing lifted into the air from her closet, folding itself neatly, books stacking in the corner. Her hand went under her pillow to retrieve The Lover's card when Ron had his back turned, inspecting the telly with utmost interest. She slipped it into her back pocket just as her trunk closed and locked itself. Ron cast a shrinking charm on the trunk and slipped it into the pocket of his Auror's robes. "Do you want to say goodbye to your mother, then?"

Hermione thought about going down the stairs, the imposition of having to stare into her mother's disappointed eyes. Sighing, she retrieved a spare bit of parchment and a quill and penned a quick letter. " _Mum, Maybe one day we will see eye-to-eye. I'll miss you and I'll write often. No matter what has happened or what was said, I love you. And dad as well. Hermione."_

Giving her a lopsided grin that was meant to be reassuring, Ron took her hand to side-along Apparate. "Come on, then. If we arrive early, mum can make us something to eat before we head out to Diagon Alley."

With a squelching behind her belly button, Hermione was pulled into the kitchen of the Burrow. Molly squeaked and grasped at her chest at the unexpected intrusion, then proceeded to violently beat her son's chest with her dish towel. "Ronald Bilius, you could have owled or Floo called!"

"No time, mum," he mentioned, reaching around her to pop a small finger sandwich into his mouth. "I'm here on official Ministry business. Hermione needs to stay here for a while."

Molly's eyes welled with pride in her son and she turned to Hermione, holding out her arms for a hug. Scooping Hermione into a tight embrace, she began weeping openly. "Oh, Hermione! We've been so worried. You haven't come by once since you got out of the hospital! We started to worry that you'd forgotten us, too!"

Hermione chuckled and hugged the witch back. "No, Mrs. Weasley. He," she jabbed a thumb at Ron, who was now scooping a spoonful of pasta salad onto a plate, "and Harry both have been keeping me under lock and key. A team of Aurors watching my every move! I'm going stir crazy."

"Well, I understand you have a trip planned this afternoon?" Mrs. Weasley inquired as she swatted her son away from where she was putting the finishing touches on lunch.

"Malfoy _insisted_ we go to Diagon Alley," Ron said around a mouthful of food.

Hermione sat at the kitchenette table across from him, leaning on her elbow. "Actually, I was the one who insisted. He was going to go alone, but I told him I wanted to go as well. That I could accompany him or I could go alone, but one way or another I was headed to Diagon Alley."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Of course. Always the stubborn one. Can't just stay put until we figure this all out."

"That could be _months_ from now. Besides, I have the four best recruits the Auror Department has ever seen guarding me. No one would be stupid enough to mess with me a second time, in the same spot, with the four of you. Not to mention Malfoy, who I'm certain will be on high alert."

"Hermione, dear," Molly began, setting a pitcher of lemonade on the table, "you can stay in Percy's old room. I'll make the bed fresh in just a moment."

Hermione waved her hand and stood from the table. "That's okay, I'm really not hungry. I'll go up now and get settled in."

She held out her hand to Ron, who narrowed his eyes as he slapped her miniature trunk into her palm. "We leave in thirty. I've got Harry retrieving Malfoy and Corner and Macmillan doing a preliminary sweep of the shops and alleys."

Hermione nodded and gave Molly a sideways hug before she made her way up to her room. The Burrow had always brought her comfort—the warmth it always emitted, even in the dead of winter, the smell of baked goods and mouth-watering entrees, the little touches that made the house a home. Her nerves had already calmed tenfold just in the time she had been here.

She climbed slowly up the winding staircase toward Percy's room. It wasn't a room she had frequented in her youth, but she knew where it was. Fighting the urge to knock, she opened the door and found an immaculately kept bedroom. It was slightly smaller than Ginny's, though that could have been more for the fact that every wall was lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. The bed was neatly made with sheets, so Hermione went to the hall cupboard and retrieved a spare quilt—burgundy and gold—and made the single sized bed quickly.

Every other surface—the top of the chest of drawers, the nightstand, and the desk, were all completely devoid of clutter. Only a lantern sat atop the nightstand. Hermione sat on the edge of the mattress, looking around. From where she sat, it appeared as though Percy had organized his books first according to the topic, and then by the color of the spine, and finally by last name within each color.

Intrigued, she stood and went to the nearest category—Alchemy. It wasn't a subject she had ever studied in school and she grew excited with the anticipation of diving head first into a brand new area of intellect. Her eyes scanned and came to rest on a small collection on the bottom of the third shelf. Four books, all bound in black, sat at the very end of the row. _The Art of Divination. The All-Seeing. Fortune-telling for the Less Fortunate. Cartomancy: A Deck A Day Keeps Enemies at Bay._

Hermione knelt down and lifted the book on cartomancy from its resting place. Brushing away stray dust, she cracked open the front cover. Percy never seemed like the type to believe in Divination, but she thought she could clearly picture Penelope Clearwater shuffling a deck of cards at the Ravenclaw table one year.

Retrieving the card from her back pocket, she climbed onto the bed and rested back against the headboard. Her fingers quickly found the section on tarot and she flipped hungrily until she found what she was looking for.

 _The Lovers_

 _Card Six of the Major Arcana_

 _Zodiac Correspondence: Gemini_

 _Elemental Correspondence: Air_

 _Planetary Correspondence: Mercury_

 _Upright presentation: Romantic Relationships, harmony, soulmates and kindred spirits, desire, sexual compatibility, shared moral values, choices, attraction, mutual empowerment, [during retrograde] miscommunication_

Hermione's eyes fixated on the phrase "sexual compatibility" as she felt a blush creep up her chest, neck, and cheeks. _Oh, Merlin. Did we really?_ The notion that she had lost her virginity to Draco Malfoy was enough to get her heart racing and her cheeks burning.

For the first time, instead of picturing him with his haunted countenance of sixth year, or the healthy brood he held now, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine him kissing her, touching her, whispering naughty things to her. It was nearly impossible to think about—she couldn't remember a single time before the attack when he had been kind to her. Still, her lips tingled all the same and Hermione raised her fingers to trace over them.

There was an emptiness in her chest at the very thought of being that close to him, a hollow cavity she didn't quite understand. She knew it must be his absence, causing her actual physical grief that she couldn't grasp. Hermione drew her lip between her teeth, wondering how he was holding up.

The sight of him lying in a hospital bed with bandages wrapping his head and arms sent waves of nausea coursing through her. Clenching her eyes, she willed her mind to shut off such wretched thoughts for a few minutes. Instead, she tried to focus on the fact that she would be seeing him in a few short moments.

What would she say to him? She'd tried to be as comforting as she could when he was in the hospital, a strange and delicate dance. Knowing that he loved her and she had once loved him was overwhelming. Her secret childhood whims of fancy had actually blossomed into a love unlike any she could have readied herself for, should everyone's stories be believed. Glancing back down at the book, she read the line, " _The relationship will begin pure and a strong bond will be forged to withstand all hardships along the way."_

No matter how monumental, they were currently going through a hardship. Despite being unable to recall their past together, Hermione knew she would give Malfoy a chance once more. His letter—the sweetest, most heartfelt thing she had ever read in her life—was tucked safely in her trunk. She'd read it so many times since leaving him at the hospital, she'd nearly memorized it.

 _That_ Draco Malfoy—the one who spouted off about his undying love for her and his conviction in winning her affections once more—was a man she could see herself loving, _wanted_ to love. She just had to get past the sorrow and slight anger that had nestled into her heart at his part in Dumbledore's death. Her last memory of him from _before._

o-o-o

"Will you stop _fidgeting?_ You look fine," Ron told Hermione as they stood in front of Florian Fortescue's.

Hermione was smoothing her hands over her skirt—a sensible black skirt that she had paired with a green cardigan—for the hundredth time. Her palms were sweating as she and Ron stood with Michael and Ernie. The three Aurors had her cornered, pressed against a wall as they waited for Malfoy and Harry to arrive. "I'm just so bloody nervous," she mumbled, attempting to still her hands by clasping them in front of her.

"It's only Malfoy," Ron snorted, staring to his left, his hand firmly around the wand in his pocket.

 _Only Malfoy._ When she had first awakened from her attack, that may have rung true. But now, everything had changed. He loved her. He'd fight for her. A snarl rose in her chest as the desire to defend him grew stronger. "It's only the man _who has confessed his undying love for me on multiple occasions!_ But no big deal, right?"

"That's not what—"

Ron was cut off when they heard a crack and both Harry and the wizard in question appeared before them. Harry immediately moved into position, ushering Malfoy into the space beside Hermione as Ron moved behind them, covering them on all sides just as had been explained to her earlier that morning.

Malfoy looked down at her, a smile spread across his face, though his eyes were tight, concentrated. "I'm glad you showed. I've missed you."

Her heart was fluttering somewhere in her throat as she gave him a smile, but said nothing in return. His hand brushed along hers and he lifted hers to his lips, kissing along her knuckles. She allowed him such a gesture, as it could easily pass for gentlemanly pureblood manners, though the act made her pulse race. Merlin. This was sure to be awkward, especially with the others surrounding them.

"Shall we head to Flourish and Blotts?" Harry asked, looking down the nearly empty street toward the bookstore. "It is the one store you entered that day, isn't it?"

"It is," Malfoy began, clasping his hands behind his back as though it pained him not to hold hers as they strode. "Fucking vultures."

Hermione followed his line of sight to where a wizard was snapping photographs across the street. She knew they were a spectacle, a reason for gossip in the fledgling _Prophet._ "Get lost!" Ron growled and the photographer glared at him, but strode down the street in the opposite direction, speaking the whole way about how it was within his rights to take photos if he pleased.

They moved along, Malfoy explaining their path the day of the attack as the Aurors surveyed every angle with wands in hand. "We went to Flourish and Blotts that day, looking for a very specific book, one that we had seen in a vision while scrying."

"What book?" Hermione questioned, still dumbfounded by the idea that _she_ had divined anything at all as The Lovers card burned in her pocket.

" _Delensura_. We scryed and saw me returning to Malfoy Manor to retrieve it. _Alone_ ," he replied, and Hermione noticed a slight wrinkle between his brows when he frowned. Something in her told her that she had smoothed her finger over that very spot in the past.

"What is this book about? I've never heard of it before."

Harry stopped them and backed them against the wall so that the other three Aurors caged them in. "Stay here, I'm going in to make sure nothing is out of place."

Hermione would have rolled her eyes at Harry's protective stance, had she not ended up Obliviated here on this very stretch of road. Malfoy gestured into the window of the store. "Flourish could tell you a little better what it is. I haven't been able to find anything on it since."

"And you went into the Manor for this? So, it's a Malfoy family heirloom or something?"

He shrugged, frowning with his lack of answers. "He said there were only three copies, one of which was in my familial home. I don't know why it's important."

Harry came back out of the store, waving them in. "Come on, then. Bernie is in a foul mood today, so watch out."

They stepped in and immediately, Flourish Jr. pointed a finger at Malfoy. "You! Do you know what I had to do to get those potioneering school books for you? I told you, I don't take kindly to people wasting my time."

Malfoy bristled next to her, wincing at the tone in Flourish's voice. "Sorry. I've been a bit...preoccupied," he mentioned, nodding his head in Hermione's direction.

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione stepped forward, shielding Malfoy as she felt irritation welling within her. "Mr. Flourish, a lot has happened since we were here last. Or do you not read the paper?"

The elder wizard's cheeks pinkened as he took in the feisty witch, risen to her full height and her chin raised defiantly. "Of course, Miss Granger. I've followed your story closely. I've wracked my brain repeatedly about the different customers that came and went that day, trying to recall if anything was amiss."

Hermione looked over her shoulder at Malfoy, who had a small smirk on his face. "And have you thought of anything?"

Flourish nodded toward Harry. "I told him everything I remember."

"Well, I want you to tell me," Hermione retorted, raising an eyebrow as she crossed her arms. Flourish was being purposefully difficult and she instinctively knew that it was because of Draco's presence. Reluctantly, she added, "Please."

The bookstore owner removed his reading glasses and dropped them so they hung on a chain around his neck as he turned around and walked toward the counter. "You both came in, in search of a very rare book. A book I told _him_ could be found in his _own library._ "

"Yes," Hermione waved her hand dismissively. " _Delensura_. I know. Tell me what you know about that book."

Flourish looked to Malfoy and lowered his gaze. "It is a book that contains very Dark, very ancient forms of magic. I've only ever come across it once when a Romanian traveler entered the store and tried to sell it to me."

"What kind of spells could you find inside of this book?" Michael Corner asked, causing Hermione to jump as she had forgotten he and Ernie were even in attendance.

"Murderous ones," Flourish answered grimly, his mouth turning down into a deep frown. "Spells that could sever parts of a person away from the whole."

"Parts? What kind of parts?" Michael asked, his wand lowering slightly as his mouth hung open.

"Well, in the most basic sense— limbs. But on a deeper level, magical cores—"

"Memories?" Hermione choked, and Malfoy slipped his hand into hers, stepping in beside her.

Flourish's face screwed into a look of confusion, then blossomed into guilt as it further burned. "Yes. I suppose if laced with an Obliviation spell, it _could_."

"You didn't think this was important to tell us?" Harry demanded, and Flourish seemed to wither before them.

"Pardon me, Mr. Potter, that my first instinct didn't fall to a rare book that would be extremely difficult to come by."

"But it's at Malfoy Manor? You're certain of this?" Ernie asked, looking at Malfoy skeptically.

Hermione looked up at the blond, searching his face for any hint of deception. She barely knew him, but something told her that he hadn't known of this book's existence before the attack. His hand shook slightly in hers and she squeezed it reassuringly. "You didn't know."

He shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his face. "No. And you have no idea how many dangerous people came in and out of that house during the War. The books are charmed so that they can never leave the Manor unless gifted by a Malfoy. But anyone of the Death Eaters could have studied the book while the Dark Lord occupied the Manor. Fuck. _He_ could have commanded someone else to read it."

"Malfoy," Ernie began, further furrowing his brow. "Why should we believe that _you_ didn't read this book and carry out all of the attacks?"

Harry put his hand up to silence his fellow Auror. "His alibis and memories all check out, Macmillan."

Ron prodded Malfoy in the back with his wand and Hermione shot him a glare. Ron's lips turned up in one corner. "Not to mention, I've seen Malfoy's dueling skills. He's not capable of pulling off such intricate magic."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and looked down at Hermione. "I guess we know why I was in the Manor alone now. We need that book."

"It's not safe for you to travel anywhere alone, Malfoy," Harry told him, and Malfoy straightened up and his thumb ran along the back of her hand.

"I'm going alone, Potter. The _Ministry_ already made the mistake of not finding or cataloging the book when they tore my house to shreds and stole all of the heirlooms that _might_ have held unsavory magic."

Harry shook his head slowly. "The Ministry didn't overturn the Manor."

"Come off it, Potter. The place was completely destroyed when Hermione and I went back at Easter."

"Why were you at the Manor at Easter?" Michael asked, and Hermione found that she, too, wanted to know the answer.

Malfoy looked down at her and his hand slipped from within hers and closed over her arm, above the scar she couldn't recall receiving. "Hermione wanted me to face my inner turmoil and wanted to face the drawing room for herself."

"You went to the Manor, where a dangerous book is housed, around the time the attacks began happening?" Macmillan questioned, and Hermione wanted to hex him for the accusation he hadn't even bothered to hide.

"Hermione was with me the entire time—"

"And conveniently, she can't _remember_ going," Michael added.

Harry narrowed his eyes, and she could tell he was trying to solve the riddle. She wondered, for the first time, if Malfoy _had_ done something. And the guilt that swept through her at that thought nearly made her collapse. "Michael, are you insinuating that Malfoy destroyed his own house, _before_ bringing Hermione there? Under what purpose?" Harry asked.

"Anger?" he replied, and Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him.

"Yes," he drawled sarcastically, "I was so angry at everyone that I went through and destroyed millions of galleons worth of artifacts and furniture. If I were going to rid my life of such things, I would sell them and use the money to fund my orphanage. Think about it."

"But _who_ destroyed the home? If not the Ministry and not you?" Harry inquired quietly, rubbing a hand over his chin as he thought. "Whoever that was, _that_ is who we are looking for."

Flourish, who had stayed quiet to observe the interaction, spoke once more. "The book is activated by magic. Anyone can see the basic information contained within, but it would take a concentration of magic to unleash the more intricate and ancient forms of magic. A trace of the reader's magical core is sure to be left behind."

Malfoy, having turned ashen as the accusations mounted against him, looked down into Hermione's eyes and he let out a sigh of relief. "We need that book."

She gave him a small smile and turned back to the bookshop owner. "Do you remember anything else from that day?"

Flourish replaced his reading glasses and he lifted a stack of books from the countertop. "Sorry. Can't say that I do. The Bulgarian Quidditch Team was making an appearance at Quality Quidditch Supplies later that afternoon. Business here was slow that day."

o-o-o

 _A/N: I am so sorry for the long absence, everyone. I've had a hell of a 2019 so far, but I'm hoping to update more often now. I've also revised the outline for this story three times, because I've just not been happy with it. But I think I'm finally satisfied with it now. Please review!_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

Draco stood flanked by Potter and a junior Auror named Montgomery in the entryway of the Manor. His eyes were closed as he steadily counted the erratic beating of his heart. Coming back to this hellish place without her was even more despairing than the air of desolation that had hung around them in her vision.

"You weren't kidding—this place is a complete wreck!" Potter exclaimed, his ire dripping from his voice as he surveyed the damage around them. "The Ministry doesn't need to overturn every nook to find anything we would have been looking for—we have other methods. This was done by someone else—looters or—"

"Or the person who attacked us? But the book is in Father's library—why destroy the entire Manor?" Draco questioned, furrowing his brow as he tried to ignore the shattered mirror that crunched beneath his feet. In childhood, he'd watched his mother fret over every little flyaway hair in that mirror as they'd awaited guests.

"Revenge? Whoever did this is obviously attacking the families of Death Eaters. No offense," Potter began sheepishly, taking a few steps further into the home, "but this was their lair for over a year."

Draco shrugged—there wasn't much point in arguing with that logic. "I'll go up and retrieve the book, and then I want to get the fuck out of here for good."

"Montgomery, you stay down here and do a quick sweep of the place—see if you can detect anything amiss. I'll go up with Malfoy and check the rooms upstairs," Potter commanded, though he went to the opposite staircase.

A lump in his throat the size of a snitch, Draco took the stairs slowly, already dreading the moment that he would have to pluck the book from the shelf. At the top of the stair, his portrait came into view. Predictably, " _Why are you here?"_

"I hardly think it falls under the realm of being your business, but I need a book from Father's private collection," Draco told his younger self, just as he had in the visions only a few months prior. "And yes, Father is out of prison and yes, he knows I am betrothed to Granger."

"You've got to be kidding me! Falling in love with the Mudblood? How stupid could you be?" his portrait scoffed, though his cheeks pinkened.

Having turned away in hopes that this conversation was through, Draco turned on his heel to face the portrait of himself. "Do not ever speak about her in that manner again, or I will cut your stupidly boyish face out of that portrait and burn it in a fire pit."

"Ooh ho, touchy, are we? Tell me, where is dearest _Hermione_ now? I don't see her anywhere," the portrait continued, and he wondered if he had truly been this obstinate as a young man.

"Go fuck yourself, you slimy little bastard," Draco hissed through clenched teeth, turning once more to continue toward his Father's study.

The foreboding mahogany doors loomed before him, and he felt the sense of dread returning as he placed a hand on the knob and pushed. The study was considerably less destroyed than the rest of the Manor, and it was clear that the individual had been searching for something very distinct within this room, rather than simply seeking revenge.

Moving into his father's library, he resisted the urge to pick up a crystal snake and toss it against the far wall in anger. The books held within this room were heavily guarded, unable to pass through the doors unless a Malfoy heir was the one to hold it. Remembering the large tome, bound in what appeared to be human skin, he quickly skimmed the shelves in search of the book.

The titles contained within this collection _should_ have been seized by the Ministry, and he had to roll his eyes at their incompetence. Nothing good would ever come from anything contained within these stacks. Running his fingers along their spines, he could feel the ancient and Dark magic radiating from within each one, vibrations that made his joints ache and his teeth chatter.

Finally, in the third aisle he searched, he found the particular book he had been hunting. _Delensura_. The moment his hand came into contact with it, he felt a jolt go painfully up his arm and his Mark seethed beneath the surface of his forearm for the first time since the Dark Lord had fallen.

Fighting the pain, he pulled the book from the shelf. It was bound in flesh, though now that he had a better look, he suspected it may have been the skin of a house elf, rather than a human. It was heavy, both in volume and in sheer severity of the spells contained within. With a last look around the room, Draco took his leave, striding quickly through the home as he made his way back to the foyer to meet Potter.

"Now you're slumming it with _Potter_?" his portrait spat as he passed. "What in the _bloody hell_ happened?"

"War," was Draco's clipped reply as he took the stairs two at a time and met Montgomery, who was eyeing his home with thinly veiled disgust.

"I don't know how you could have lived here," the wizard remarked, staring at what Draco knew to be bloodstains in between the marble tiles of the dining room. "And what happened to the chandelier?"

"War," he repeated, watching as Potter descended the stairs, a sour look on his face.

"Well," the bespectacled git began, "they didn't leave a trace. Ruined literally every inch of this house, but not a single discernable trace of magic." He ran a hand through his eternally-messy hair and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, turning his attention to the book in Draco's hand. "We're going to need a cursebreaker to look at this before we can do anything with it."

"How lucky for you that you happen to know one," Draco replied dryly, the wings on the snitch in his throat flapping grotesquely as he thought of having to perform some ancient Dark spell to get the book to reveal its secrets.

Potter nodded in agreement. "Too true. I'll contact Bill Weasley."

o-o-o

The book had been left in the possession of the Ministry earlier that afternoon, but Draco continued to feel a deep sense of auguring trepidation as he dressed for the gala. At this point, he was uncertain of whether it was because of his impending task of unlocking the magic contained within _Delensura_ , or the prospect of having to face an entire room full of guests alone.

The orphanage had been a joint effort between he and Hermione—she'd fought with Shacklebolt for him to have the right to build it. She should be there next to him, administering a speech far more eloquent than anything he could have written, smiling at their guests, campaigning for the less fortunate.

Instead, he would be alone, stumbling through his gratitude and trying to hold the pieces of himself together. Though she spoke more frequently to him now, they had not spoken since Diagon Alley, where she had politely declined his request to accompany him. " _I'm not ready to face all of those people yet, Malfoy,"_ she'd told him with a glint of pity in her eye.

He understood, really. How could he not? Dread filled him at having to stand in front of everyone, to pretend that he wasn't a fraction of the man he was when he was with her. Their faces would all be fraught with pity and false sorrow for him, their smiles tight with an uncomfortable sympathy.

He arrived at the Little Hippogriffs' orphanage to find his mother folding serviettes into hippogriffs with a wave of her wand. A few of the house elves from the villa had accompanied her and were setting tables with his mother's finest French dishes. His house elf, Leta passed, wearing a pressed white dress and clunky purple necklace. "Master Draco," she said by way of greeting, and he smiled as he remembered the first time Hermione had learned that he was responsible for freeing the elves in fourth year.

His smile slowly fell as he once again realized that he had to face this evening alone. Leta squeezed his arm. "Darla was sorry to hear about Mistress Herminnie. But Master Draco should be proud."

Draco looked into her large sympathetic eyes, the first of the evening. He gave her a quiet nod and straightened his cuffs. The elf took a hint and stepped around him to yell at another for spilling soup across the clean white linens. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he approached his mother and planted a kiss to her temple. "Your father was unhappy that you requested him to keep away for the night," she said by way of greeting. _Fantastic, bring on the guilt as well._

"Father's presence here would cause some of our biggest benefactors to leave, their galleons securely in their pockets," he responded, looking around the elegantly decorated room.

The gala was to take place in what would be the children's dining hall. Fifty witches and wizards who had already pledged a significant amount were to be in attendance with their significant others and his stomach turned at the thought of a hundred pairs of eyes watching him—the morose, heartbroken ex-Death Eater—all evening. "He's trying to take this all in stride, Dragon," his mother continued, pulling his attention back to her.

Sighing, he lifted his wand and flicked a cloth hippogriff into shape and watched as it flew to the furthest dinner plate. "Mother, please. Tonight is hard enough without you pressuring me about my father. I have spoken civilly to him since waking in the hospital—which is more than he should expect right now, after everything."

When the last hippogriff was standing astride its post, Narcissa stood and looked up at her son's weary face. "Do not turn your back on family, son. You never know when you may need them."

With that, the chime sounded their first guest's arrival. Narcissa raised her hand and cupped her son's cheek. "I love you. And you should be proud of all you've accomplished," she waved toward the room, "on your own. You're a good man, and you've got a heart of gold. I know you miss Hermione, but tonight is for Alya and the young witches and wizards she called family for so long. Please, try not to look as though someone has died."

He smiled and gave her a single nod, her strength momentarily bandaging the deep crevicing wounds of his heart. His constant warring with his father was wearing on her, the only contrition in her life now that they had made it through the War and Azkaban.

Draco, ever the dutiful son and the champion of the cause, greeted each and every guest as they entered. His soul was flaming, seething within him, lonesome and wary. The mundane, polite conversation as he watched each person's eyes shine with false compassion. His skin absolutely crawled with each hand softly placed on his arm, each whispered sentiment of sympathy.

Piano music tinkled in the background, the buzz of conversation drowning out all coherent thought. When the time came for him to give a speech, the walls began to squeeze in around him, snuffing all breathable air. His heart was thudding almost painfully, his magic surging electrically in his veins. The overwhelming weight of the world pressing in on him as one hundred pairs of eyes bore into his flesh from every angle had anxiety ringing through every fiber of his being. "Mum," he began, his head swimming dangerously.

His mother's head snapped up at the informal name. "Draco? Are you alright? You're looking a little peckish—"

"I need air. Please speak to the crowd—you've always been good at this." Draco strode away from his mother and a worried-looking Hortense Zabini, raking a hand through his fringe and pulling his tie away from his neck.

Draco pushed out of the glass doors, the sound of the piano and the din of laughter and quieted conversing falling away at his back. The night air offered a slight reprieve, filling his lungs with cool air. His hands delved into his hair, tugging at the locks as he took a deep breath and clenched his eyes.

"You look dashing." The voice startled him and his head snapped toward the source of the sound. Hermione stood there, dressed in the clothing he had grown to love: the plaid green skirt he'd first seen her in on the Hogwarts Express a year prior, a black jumper slung off one shoulder, and fishnets tucked into black trainers. Her hair was plaited and hanging over her bared collar. His eyes glanced over her lip tucked between his teeth. His heart zoomed to life, beating at a seemingly impossible pace. She was clearly unnerved as well, wringing the sleeve of her jumper between her fingers.

Merlin, he wanted nothing more than to scoop her up into his arms and hold her until the end of time. Instead, he smiled widely, the noose of melancholy loosening around his neck. "Granger!" his feet carried him to her, "You came!"

Nibbling her lip, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, just as he hated the others had done to him all evening. Except her touch was divine. "I understand this was important to you. To us. I can't go inside—"

He put his hands up, pleading with her not to leave, that he understood. "No, neither can I. We can talk out here. It's so suffocating inside, with everyone's eyes on me. It's maddening!"

"I'm sorry I made you do this alone. I feel so selfish in all of this," she looked up to him and her eyes glinted in the moonlight, shining with unshed tears.

Draco lifted his hand and delicately brushed a short curl from her fringe away from her face, huffing a laugh when it popped back into place. "You aren't selfish, so don't ever think that about yourself. Our entire time together, you did nothing but campaign and fight for me, my fierce little witch."

Granger released her bottom lip as she laughed, looking delightedly at her hand where it still rested over his arm. "I know we spoke about the apprenticeship in France—"

"I can't take it, Hermione. Not until we resolve this and I know you're safe."

Her lips curved into a shy smile, though a blatant unknowing flashed over her features briefly. She reached into her bag and retrieved a book, holding it out to him. "Take this. Take this, go to France, serve the apprenticeship, and write to me constantly."

Draco took the thick journal from her, running his fingers over the leather cover, the embossed and decorative _M._ "I can't."

Granger put her hands over his, leaning into him slightly. "You can. And you will. I won't allow you to remain here and run yourself ragged trying to solve this. That's what the Aurors are for. If I have to move to France to force your hand, I will. But I lose my security detail if I go."

"No!" Draco's heart sank at the mere mentioning of her being put into danger on his behalf. He sighed and glared at her half-heartedly. "This is really foul, you know. Giving me an ultimatum that you know I cannot refuse."

"I hear you Slytherins are quite good at getting what you want? Perhaps I retained this little bit of you," she shrugged, grinning widely at his broodiness.

"Does Potter have anything new to report?"

"Not a thing. They are still reviewing the book to check for active curses that could endanger anyone."

With a scoff, Draco replied, "Some investigators these Aurors are. They haven't made heads or tails of a bit of this! And you wonder why I want to stay and delve into it on my own."

"Malfoy," Granger admonished, her tone that bossy one he had grown to love, "this is not negotiable. I know the hard work you had to put into earning this position with Maurice Deschamps. He's world-renowned and the stories of his craftsmanship are things of legends. You have to train under him. Circling around Harry and Ron will only drive you spare."

"Not having you is driving me spare!" he shrieked, tugging at his hair before smacking his free hand against his thigh in agitation.

Her eyes dropped to stare at his chest and a blush rose over her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I really am. I don't know how else I can possibly say it. I know this is tearing you apart, but you have to see that I'm trying as well." Gesturing toward the journal in his hand, she crossed her arms over her chest and he felt the wave of guilt wash over him.

"I'm sorry, too," he mumbled, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip and dropping his head back, silently cursing the fact that he could see the constellation Lyra, the very stars that Draco had shown her when he proposed. "I'm trying to be patient. But...fuck, Hermione, I'm scared to death that this is irreversible. That you'll never remember what we've had, never love me again."

Granger's hand slid around his as it grasped the book. "Write to me. Every day if you'd like," she mentioned once more, leaning up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. "I look forward to reading your thoughts."

The place on his cheek where her lips had caressed his skin tingled as she pulled away, a rush of cool air replacing the warmth of her body. He nodded numbly and hugged the journal to his chest. She gave him another charming smile and pushed a loose curl behind her ear. "I'm really proud of everything you've done for the children. You've really changed from when I remember you last. I can't want to become reacquainted."

"When you're ready, I have memories and letters to share with you." Desperation was setting in as he knew her time at the orphanage was over for the evening. "Please, come to the house soon so I can show you. Bring Weasley if you have to."

Granger nodded once and turned to walk to the Apparition point where two Aurors waited and he watched her leave, hope and loneliness battling in his mind. She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. "Oh, and Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"You really do look dashing in that suit!"

o-o-o

 _A/N: Thank you to everyone who read and/or reviewed so far. Please continue to drop me a line and share your thoughts! Our girl is slowly coming around once more. Romance is coming on and feeling a little more like Pariah._


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

Hermione stared at the pristine script on the parchment before her:

 _Miss Granger,_

 _Please accompany me at the orphanage_

 _for a bit of girl talk and reacquainting. Today at noon,_

 _if you are able, and I hope that you are. Alya misses you, as well._

 _Warmest Regards,_

 _N. Malfoy_

Perspiration coated her palms at the thought of being alone for any length of time with Narcissa Malfoy. They had been cordial when Draco was hospitalized, but a cloud of awkward tension had hung in the air in the handful of interactions they'd shared. Reading the letter again, she eyed the name of the young Malfoy daughter. _Alya._ The name tickled at the back of her mind, though she couldn't be for certain if it was because of the star's positioning in a constellation she'd once studied in Astronomy.

A glance at the clock told her she had thirty minutes to get to the orphanage and she retrieved a fresh piece of parchment and quill just as another owl tapped at her window. Mrs. Malfoy's bird hooted pleasantly, clearly familiar with the regal bird. Opening the glass to allow him entrance, Hermione inhaled sharply as the owl dropped a parcel neatly on her sill. Butterflies began fluttering up the column of her esophagus the moment she recognized the journal. Malfoy had wasted no time in writing to her.

As she mulled this fact over, the turning that had settled low in her belly was inexplicable. There was apprehension, a precarious irritation that she couldn't remember a single moment of their life together. But there was something more, a feeling that tickled at her and made her heart race with hope and expectation. _Excitement_.

Malfoy was certainly different than the smarmy little git she knew from before the war. He was handsome and matured, and his underlying brokenness tore at her heart. Curiosity was eating away at her as she scribbled a note of acceptance to Mrs. Malfoy's letter and gave it to the owl for delivery. What would Draco Malfoy write to her about? His previous missive had been a heartfelt love letter, one that she carried tucked safely between the pages of her current read.

They'd spent limited time together, and nearly every moment of that had been under the watchful eye of her friends and family. Running her fingers over the edge of the journal, she wondered what he was like in private. Was he flirty? Snarky? Funny? She shot another guilty glance toward her clock. _Later_.

Tucking the journal under her pillow with a wistful last glance, she went to the wardrobe to find something suitable. What did one wear when meeting with the Lady of the Malfoy family? Her eclectic taste would likely be unappreciated by someone with such terrifying and ancient poise. At the end of the row of hangers, a black sheath dress hung unassumingly. It was simple, plain, respectable.

As she changed, she listened to the hustling and bustling of the other occupants of the Burrow. Ron had started staying at his childhood home again when she left her parents, acting as her personal guard at every opportunity. Much to her chagrin, Hermione knew she would have to inform him of her impromptu meeting with the Malfoy matriarch.

Clad in a sensible outfit, she clasped a string of pearls around her neck and tucked her wand into the pocket of her dress. Knowing her hair was a lost cause, she tied it away from her face with a black ribbon, a few errant curls refusing to conform. Her nerves were twisting her gut, her stomach sitting somewhere in the middle of her esophagus.

She padded down the stairs, the smell of biscuits baking wafting on the air making her belly rumble appreciatively. Rounding the corner to the kitchen, she found Ron and Molly talking quietly. The speaking ceased as Molly's eyes met hers. His mother's sudden silence made Ron turn around, a chicken leg in his mouth as he accessed her clothing and narrowed his eyes. "'Mione," he lowered the chicken, "are you planning on going somewhere?"

She nibbled her lower lip as she swiped her hands across the front of her dress. "Narcissa Malfoy asked me to accompany her at the orphanage."

Hermione watched as Ron swallowed hard and sighed. "I was hoping when Malfoy moved to France you'd lose interest," he admitted, and his mother swatted the back of his head.

"Ronald," she admonished, turning to the younger witch, "the others are in the garden. Go wake them and tell them it's time to do some work."

Ron shoved the plate away from him and rolled his eyes, shooting Hermione a sheepish, lopsided grin that let her know he was only giving her a hard time. She was only just getting used to the idea that Ron and Harry were supportive of the relationship she'd once shared with Malfoy—an idea that piqued her curiosity further and made her even more frustrated with her memory loss. _What am I missing?_

Molly moved around the table and stood in front of her, pushing loose curls away and cupping her face in a motherly fashion. "No matter the differences between our two Houses, the bad blood there once was between the Malfoy and Weasley families, one thing is for certain. You have captured Draco Malfoy's heart, and every day since the attack he has proven himself changed and worthy of your love. It's okay to be apprehensive still, but don't shut him away completely. I'm sure Narcissa will say the same."

She placed a kiss to Hermione's brow as Ron reentered the kitchen, flanked by the same two Auror trainees that always accompanied them away from the Burrow. "To the orphanage?"

Molly gave her a wink and Hermione smiled anxiously as she slipped her hand into Ron's elbow to allow herself to be apparated away. She landed with a sickening feeling behind her navel as Ron let out a low whistle. "Search the perimeter," he instructed the others, eyeing the structure that loomed before them.

"They tore down the Shrieking Shack to build this," Hermione noted absently, taking in the way the stained glass windows glimmered in the sunlight. Children, forever enshrined in mosaics of blues and greens, skipped and chased after a small purple hippogriff.

"It's even more impressive in the daylight," Ron commented, glancing sidelong at her. "Never thought that slimy git had it in him to do _good_."

"Neither did I," Hermione admitted quietly.

Letting out a raucous laugh, Ron slung his arm around her shoulders. "I s'pose we have _you_ to thank for that. As mum put it, you've ' _captured his heart.'_ Or some such bollocks."

The two trainee Aurors came back around the building and nodded affirmatively to Ron. "The Malfoys are in the garden around back. It's heavily warded, so we couldn't get in, but we saw no signs of deception from beyond the wards."

Ron removed his arm from around her, raising one brow. "Come on, then. Let's go see what they're up to. But, let's take the long route, shall we?"

Hermione could hear the curiosity dripping from every syllable he spoke and she gave him a mischievous grin and nodded. They approached the door and the two marble hippogriff statues on either side spread their wings, blocking the entrance. "Names?" the one to the left inquired, his voice sounding eerily like Draco's.

The pair exchanged glances and she cleared her throat, trying to put far more confidence into her voice than she felt. "Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. We have a meeting with Narcissa and Alya Malfoy."

"Wands!" The right one barked, sounding far more put-out than his companion.

Extending their wands towards the enchanted creatures, the pair remained still while each hippogriff bent and retrieved them between their beaks. The large onyx eyes on either figure closed as they assessed the magic contained within each wand core. Hermione felt a tickling run through her wand arm and within her mind. "She can go. But you must stay," the right one replied, spitting Ron's wand toward him.

"What? Why?"

Bristling at the tone of Ron's voice, Hermione placed a hand on his arm. "Calm down—"

"The core of your wand shows traces of recent Dark Magic," the statue replied, rising to its impressive full height. "No entry."

"I'm an _Auror_ , you dolts. Of _course_ it shows traces of Dark Magic! We have to learn how to properly cast them in order to best learn how to _deflect_ them! Hermione, I have never used Dark spells or hexes against someone in malice!"

"Ron," Hermione tugged at his sleeve, "really, it's okay. I doubt Narcissa has invited fugitive Death Eaters to fill a home occupied by children. I'm just going to go through to the garden. I'll meet you here. Or, if it would make you feel any better, you can stand outside of the wards and watch us."

"This is hippogriff dung, Hermione. I am an _Auror!"_

"I know, Ron. But I feel better knowing their defenses are so keen," she stated simply, pursing her lips at his indignance. "I'm going in, whether you like it or not. I'll be back out soon enough."

With that, Ron stepped back, his teeth grinding noisily as he begrudgingly accepted her proclamation. The hippogriffs bowed low, their wings tucking firmly into their sides to allow her entry. She glanced over her shoulder to see Ron already walking around the side to survey her from beyond the ward, his wand at the ready.

Hermione had not entered the building when she had come to see Malfoy during the gala, and her jaw dropped at the massive structure within. It was elegant and far more clean and modern than Hogwarts. The stained glass threw playful colors over the lobby floor, and the tapestries and paintings that hung around were vibrant and fresh, depicting storybook characters of old.

Straight ahead, King Arthur rode across a tapestry on his prized mare, Llamrei. Overhead, Hermione heard the soft patter of childish footsteps and giggling. Glancing up through the spiraling staircase, she saw dozens of little heads poking over the railing, eyeing her as she made her way into the heart of the orphanage. "Miss Granger, Mrs. Malfoy is just beyond those doors. She's waiting for you," came a voice from within a knight's suit that paced the length of the lobby floors.

There was a scuffling noise and her eyes snapped toward the far door just in time to see a blonde head disappear through it. Though her hair wasn't quite as white as Draco's, the girl was undoubtedly a Malfoy. Quickening her pace, Hermione tried to survey everything she passed as she followed the powder blue-clad form of the little girl.

When Hermione stepped out into the garden, she was greeted with warm, fresh air and bright sunshine, though the sky beyond had been cloudy. There were plants and flowers lining the grounds, benches and frolicking statues peppered throughout. Perhaps, however, the most interesting sight was the bent frame of Narcissa Malfoy herself.

The witch was hunched over a place in the center of the garden and she appeared to be _digging_. Cautious, Hermione approached slowly, her eyes scanning the perimeter until she saw Ron, standing beyond the garden's magic. As she neared, it became evident that Mrs. Malfoy was planting summer lilacs. "Hermione," she greeted pleasantly, not looking up from where she was loosely packing soil around the plant's base.

The blonde girl stood behind her mother, placing a hand on her shoulder as she watched Hermione curiously. "Hello, Mrs. Malfoy. Alya." She certainly hoped her voice didn't sound as shaky as her insides felt.

"Narcissa, if you will," the witch corrected, finally looking up from her task and giving Hermione a warm smile. "You may not remember just yet. But we've gotten to know one another quite well."

"Of course," Hermione began, feeling incredibly out of place in her presence, "forgive me for my ignorance. It's frustrating for me to remember nothing of my life for the past few years, and incredibly embarrassing to have to be reminded."

Narcissa rose from her position and Hermione was shocked to realize that her robes had been fashioned into an elegant, wizarding version of dungarees. "There's nothing to apologize for and nothing to be embarrassed about. I wanted you to come and spend some time with Alya and me, unencumbered by my son's overwhelming love for you."

Her soft chuckle made Hermione's heart sputter. Alya stepped around her mother and lifted her hands, moving them with rapid speed in what Hermione recognized as a mix of French and British sign language. Her own hands came up and worked in front of her, responding in kind. Lips parting in surprise, she was shocked to realize that she not only _understood_ but apparently made sense in responding, because Alya let out a laugh.

Narcissa clapped her hands together in front of her, a large radiant smile spreading across her face. "You remember?"

Astonished, Hermione nodded once. "I don't remember learning sign language."

"You learned it _for_ Alya. To better communicate so that you didn't have to use the spell every time. This is _wonderful_ news! We must tell Draco, he'll be so pleased when he hears this!"

 _Draco._ The entire reason for Hermione to be standing in front of his family. Narcissa's eyes darted to where Hermione had begun gnawing at her lower lip and she smiled patiently. "I'm afraid I have terrible manners. It would be customary to invite you for a formal tea and a spot of lunch. But, I thought that perhaps you would enjoy working with Alya and I in the garden instead? We're planting flowers to attract butterflies—her favorite."

Glancing around, Hermione noted that each variety of flower in the garden was a variety that would likely attract butterflies of all kinds: valerian and verbena, Erysimum and sedum. Magic would attract them this late in the season and within weeks, the entire oasis would be aflutter. "I'd love to help," she replied, glancing down at her starched dress.

Narcissa raised an elegant brow and waved her wand, transfiguring Hermione's dress into a similar style of trousers to hers. "Slip your shoes off and stay awhile. We've got an afternoon's worth of work left."

Toeing off her shoes, Hermione relished the warm grass between her toes as she retrieved a spade and knelt alongside Narcissa. Alya, much more outgoing and friendly than her brother had been at such a young age, would sign wildly when their eyes met. Precocious and highly intelligent, Hermione grew fond of the girl immediately. Narcissa hummed tunes Hermione did not recognize as they worked, a solemn reminder of the better days with her own mum, before Hermione's magic had frightened the woman into strict apprehension.

The anxiety rolled from Hermione's shoulders the longer she remained under the sun's soothing rays. There was a peaceful camaraderie between the three, though she knew this was Narcissa's intent as she eased into a conversation about Draco, asking, "Have you spoken to my sweet dragon since he arrived in France?"

Hands stilling within the damp earth, Hermione peered from under her lashes to where Narcissa dabbed at her forehead daintily with a handkerchief. "He sent me a correspondence. It arrived alongside yours and I didn't have time to read it before I had to meet you."

Narcissa pursed her lips as Alya flopped into the grass not far from where they worked to watch the clouds. "It was a massive argument in the Malfoy household to get him to agree that the apprenticeship was still a good idea. His father nearly lost his head."

"I didn't mean to cause an upheaval—"

"Hermione," Narcissa looked toward her daughter with a fondness, a far off look in her eye as she continued to speak. "I hold so many regrets when it comes to how Lucius and I raised our children. But the thing I regret the most is the ancient beliefs on blood status that we forced into his mind. And for that, I must apologize wholeheartedly."

Her heart was beating in her throat as she eyed the elder witch. The absurdity of Narcissa Malfoy apologizing to her made her jaw slacken and her pulse quicken. In the back of her mind, it occurred to her that Draco must have said something similar if she had been so willing to forgive him. She could do little more than nod dumbly as Narcissa's eyes—bright, crystalline blue—trained on her fully. "One of the things I am most proud of, however, is that my son was able to look past all of that and find his own way into your heart. You are truly a magnanimous individual, Miss Granger. A quality most, including myself, lack."

"Mrs. Malf—Narcissa, I don't know what you want me to say," Hermione admitted, suddenly feeling tiny in the face of such foreign kindness. "I've wracked my brain repeatedly, trying to remember any tidbit of information."

"I don't want you to say anything, dear girl. I simply want you to _feel_. I know that everything is overwhelming right now, but you have a support system that reaches far beyond what you would have ever imagined. I would do anything to see my son happy once more. If you need assistance with anything—facilitating an escape from your guards for a brief few minutes of rendezvous, learning his likes and dislikes, watching my memories from the _many_ conversations he and I have had with regards to you—I am here to help. I have never seen a couple fall in love so swiftly and so fully. And I want that love restored, for both of you."

Tears stung at Hermione's eyes as she listened to the vehement dedication with which Narcissa spoke of Draco's happiness. In her heart, a small flame ignited, burning desire and inquisition fueling the flame. She knew, deep in the fiery hole within her chest, she wanted the same. There was something new and fresh about who Malfoy was now. After their meetings, she found herself thinking of him more often than not. His face appeared in her dreams nearly nightly, obscure and strange scenes of them watching clouds by the Black Lake or dancing to the Four Tops in a room she didn't recognize, but could only belong to her.

Sniffling lightly, she looked to the flower in her hand, destroyed within the tight grip of her fist. She eased her hand open and the petals rained from her palm, causing the tears to well in her eyes ever more strongly. Narcissa whispered something and the petals gathered from the ground, fluttering back and reclaiming their place along the stem. "You want it, too," she said gently, and Hermione nodded in affirmation.

"Then find time to spend with him, getting to know him better. It's the only way."

"How would you propose I do that? Ask him to meet me on weekends? Spend time in Paris with him?"

Alya danced merrily behind her mother's back, chasing after a lone butterfly and occupying Hermione's attention as Narcissa smiled warmly. "I think he'd love it if you spent some time with him. It might keep him from going stir-crazy in France while the Aurors here do their jobs."

She stood and with a wave of her wand, she transfigured her trousers back into a pristine and clean set of emerald robes. "Come inside and let me introduce you to the children. They've been eager to meet you."

o-o-o

 _A/N: Do you think she'll contact Draco? I sure hope she will! Thank you, as always, for the kind reviews and encouragement._


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Bold type is taken directly from** _ **Deathly Hallows**_ **. JKR owns it all.**

Chapter 10:

Hermione stood in front of a townhouse she could only remember ever entering once. And that was the night Malfoy had been hospitalized. By the light of day, it seemed much less foreboding than it had then. Still, her heart was racing within her chest, a tempo to rival that night. They had exchanged a few letters, and each one she received, written in an elegant script with a leftward slant, had caused butterflies to flutter about in her belly.

Never before had she thought of the wizard as being so eloquent or been able to admire the antiquated romanticism of his mind. Truthfully, she'd never felt so _loved_ by anyone before this strange set of circumstances. With every letter, each so full of hope and longing that it caused her own heart to ache, her hesitance melted away. If she weren't careful, Hermione could see herself falling for such a wizard.

The door opened and Malfoy stood there, his arms crossed as he leaned on the door jamb. "Are you just going to stand there all afternoon, or will you come in?"

"I'm still uncertain of the wards," she admitted, feeling a blush rise over her cheeks at his appearance.

 _Great. Now I've been reduced to a blushing schoolgirl._ Malfoy raised a brow and sauntered down the stairs and the short stone path to where she waited. "You know, you once made me work for a password. I'm beginning to feel as though I should have a little fun here," he mentioned as he leaned a hip against the pillar.

Hermione could tell his tone was falsely arrogant, the anticipation of spending time together nearly vibrating from within him. "Well, I do have a lunch date with Viktor Krum. Perhaps I could spend a little more time preparing for that instead of with you?"

His gaze darkened and the smirk fell from his lips as he straightened his spine. "Krum? Why on earth would you be having lunch with him?"

"He's been my friend since fourth year. Turns out, Malfoy, green isn't your color after all. Jealousy is a thief of happiness."

He didn't look convinced as he sighed and extended his hand through the shimmering ward to her. The muscles of his jaw still worked though he said no more of her afternoon plans. "You should have been a damn Slytherin, you know. Get in the house, little witch, before you cause the death of me."

With a smirk not unlike his, Hermione allowed herself to be pulled swiftly onto the property. The butterflies tickled further when he didn't release her hand on the other side, instead pulling her gently toward the front entrance. A wreath hung on the door and she touched it delicately, inhaling its scent as she passed through. "Lavender. How pretty."

"A reminder of our wedding," Malfoy mumbled with a shrug.

A painful tug at her chest, and Hermione remembered why she was here. To relearn a man whom she had no recollection of ever having loved. To relive memories that are both her own and foreign all the same. The house looked much more serene as she entered it this time around, all of the broken glass and evidence of his outburst cleaned. There were odds and ends all over that she knew had belonged to her—a coffee mug that read 'Manchester United' that she'd taken from her father's cupboard before heading to Hogwarts some years back; a plush knit blanket of deep crimson draped over the arm of the sofa; her beloved kneazle.

"Crookshanks!" she nearly squealed, finally dropping Malfoy's hand to bend and retrieve her familiar. "I've missed you!"

As she ran her face along his fur, chuckling at the rumbling purr he was emitting, Malfoy raised a hand and scratched behind his ears. The creature leaned back into his hand, looking completely content to be between the pair. "He's been keeping me company since you went away," Malfoy stated, though his hand stilled in the orange depths of fur. "Though, I understand if you wanted to take him back to the Burrow."

Hermione glanced around the living area of the townhome. Though Malfoy and Crookshanks lived in France during the week, the evidence of Crooks' spoils were strewn about. Feather streamers magicked into birds with long tails and catnip mice enchanted to chase one another flitted around their legs. Her kneazle was already eyeing a bright green mouse hungrily. Though he had never liked any of her other friends, Crookshanks clearly enjoyed his time with Malfoy. "Why don't you keep him a little while longer? I have plenty of people to occupy my time at the Burrow."

Relief washed over his face as he gave her a heartfelt smile. "I appreciate that. Paris has been...rather lonely. Would you like some tea? I've got cinnamon quills."

"I'd like that, thank you," she smiled, following him into the kitchen. "From your journal entries, it sounds as though you're taking to your apprenticeship like a sprite to water."

"Potions is really where I excel most," he placed a teacup in front of her, made exactly to her liking, "so it feels natural to be surrounded by it in a Healing capacity."

"Have you always wanted to be a Healer, then? Even if it's on the medicinal side?"

At this question, Malfoy squirmed in his seat, shifting uncomfortably. "I decided after everything I saw when the Dark Lord terrorized my home that I would strive to be something more than a disgraced Death Eater."

Hermione placed her hand over his, steadying it where he was stirring much too vigorously with a spoon. "Ron and Harry told me that you helped us escape from your house. That you saved me when your aunt tortured me?"

"I was a coward. I should have killed her."

"You said you have a way to show me memories. I'd like to know…" she lifted the sleeve of her shirt and traced a finger over the scar there, "how I got this."

"Those aren't the memories I had in mind when I asked you to meet me here, Granger. Those are some of the darkest times of our lives—any of us. Me, you, Potter, Weasley. If I had the ability to forget that day, I would gladly take it."

Hermione drew her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought of how best to phrase it so that he could understand that this wasn't something she merely _wanted_. She _needed_ to know what happened. How she first came to be entangled with him that day, during his first openly heroic act. "Please, Draco. I need to know everything, starting with this. I look at the scars every day—not only this slur, but a dozen stretching across my abdomen and legs, a large one on my back—and the inability to recall how I received any of them weighs on me heavily. Everyone else carries the burden of the War, the knowledge that this world could have been drastically different if Harry had died at the castle, the bruised memories of the atrocities. I need to _remember_. To _feel_."

"Granger," Malfoy began, his tone guarded and hesitant, "it would be like watching a Muggle film. These _are_ memories, but they can't _make_ you remember. I think you'll feel all the wrong things. Feelings that would be better left buried."

"It's finally sinking in that you care for me—"

"I love you."

"—and you want what you think is best for me. But I need this."

Malfoy swiped the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip as his brow furrowed with unease. To hide the trembling of his hand, he clamped it around the teacup. "I don't have that particular memory in the collection. I think this would be better with Legilimency—you'd be able to _live_ what I did that day; thoughts, actions, emotions."

"I'm not a skilled Legilimens."

"I can help you. You are far more skilled and capable than you give yourself credit for." Taking the last gulp of tea, he stood and extended his hand once more. "Come upstairs with me."

"Not-not to your room. Our...room."

Huffing an anxious laugh, he shook his head. "No. To the library."

Her hand in his, Hermione followed behind Malfoy, her heart thumping at the base of her throat. Her Auror team was waiting a pace down the road, but she knew instinctively that their services would not be needed. The steady pulsing of magic coursing through their locked hands tickled through her veins. Nearly euphoric, the warmth of his magic enveloped her and left her far more calm than she had felt since waking after the attack.

At the landing of the stairs was a large mahogany door, cracked open to reveal a warm and expansive library. Charmed to be larger than the entire ground floor, the stacks rose taller than she and went back further than they had at Hogwarts. Malfoy placed a finger under her chin to close her slackened jaw with a breathy laugh. "We both agreed on this room. Let's have a seat on the couch."

He gestured to the loveseat nearest a crackling fireplace, the room a pleasant temperature despite being late summer. Sitting first, one leg drawn beneath him as he faced the other cushion, he patted the seat before her. Hermione lowered herself slowly, still trying to take in every square inch of the library. "I love it here."

"This technically belongs to you as well. You're welcome to come here any time. Take any books from the stacks to enjoy."

Hermione dragged her gaze to meet his and found him watching her intently. "I may take you up on that offer. But first, I'd like to see what happened that day."

His eyes dropped from hers as he wrapped a hand around where she gripped her wand. "You know how to do this—it's an intrinsic ability. Not something readily taught. You just have to focus and be careful. I will bring a memory forth, and I want you to tell me what it is. Point this right between the eyes and focus every bit of magical energy you can harness."

Her hand began wobbling and his grip tightened, holding her steady. She couldn't remember ever having delved into anyone's mind before, yet a familiarity settled over her as she stared into the mercurial depths of his eyes. " _Legilimens!"_

 _Hermione's focus shifted from staring into his eyes to peeking into the depths of his soul. Before her, she could see a massive manor looming in the distance. Staring out at the world, through the filter of Malfoy's mind, she watched as he fed stark-white peacocks. She could feel the agonizing dread driving the steady drumming of his heart. As a tear slid from his eyes, a strange shudder coursed through his body and confusion reigned as he glanced around. Shivers shuddered down his spine as he pulled his cloak closer around his neck._

 _Uncertain of where they were or what she was expected to gain from this memory of his, Hermione tried to fight the overwhelming anguish that wracked through him. Suspicious as he glanced around himself, Malfoy made a clicking noise to draw the attention of the nearest bird, who ignored him steadfastly._ "Not even the bird can stand to be around me. He knows I'm nothing but a cretin." _Hermione was surprised by this thought of Malfoy's as he conjured treats and enticed the bird to come closer._

 _He stroked the peacock as it ate greedily from his outstretched hand, cooing praises that plucked at Hermione's heartstrings. He drew his legs up and put his head back against the tree trunk and Hermione saw in his own memory's mind a vision of Draco bending to kiss her. A serenity warred for the prominent spot within him until whatever cue he had been waiting for finally arrived. "Draco! Draco, darling, it's time!"_

 _His eyes snapped open and every ounce of calm that had been there a moment before was replaced by a horrific feeling. Hermione had never felt such a raw, agonizing despair in her life. His heart was beating so heavily in his chest that Hermione put a hand to her own, as though it would somehow calm him._

Malfoy lowered her wand away from his face gently and she was again met with his silvery eyes, glassier than they had been a moment before. "I don't understand."

"What did you see?"

"I—you were sitting near what I assume was your house, feeding peacocks."

"Very good. That was precisely what I wanted you to see," he complimented, though his skin had paled while she was inside his mind. "That was the scene you witnessed when you first scryed. I didn't know it then, but that shiver was caused by you, running your fingers over my face. You're a Beholder—you connected with me through your visions."

"It was awful. Malfoy," she placed her hand on his knee, concerned, "what happened that night? Why the unbearable dread?"

"That was the night I got this," he lamented, lifting the left sleeve of his shirt.

Hermione knew to expect the Mark. What she didn't expect was the palpable self-loathing she could feel radiating from him. She moved her hand from his knee and laid it gently over the hateful scar. "It doesn't matter. You didn't want it—I could _feel_ your sorrow."

"That doesn't excuse the fact that I still took it. I was a naive little boy with grandiose ideas. I was stupid, Granger. How you ever forgave me, looked past this. I don't deserve you."

Hermione lifted her other hand, trickling it over his cheek where his jaw worked beneath stiffened muscle. "I can't pretend I understand fully. Not yet. But I'm hoping to after I piece it all together using the memories."

Malfoy covered her hand on his cheek and leaned into it. "The day you want me to show you...it's shameful how cowardly I was."

"That's not the way Ron and Harry tell the story. I want to see it just the way it took place."

"Please don't leave me after you see it."

The remorse etched in the newly acquired grooves of his face and the set of his features played on Hermione's emotions. She nearly called off the meeting, guilt eating at her as she watched the way he seemed to wither under the weight of the memory. It was selfish of her, and as her mouth opened to apologize for even suggesting he relive the moment, Malfoy lifted her wand between his eyes once more. "I can't lose you all over again. I wouldn't make it."

"You won't. No matter what I see, I know you did what you had to save your family and yourself. To save us."

His eyes closed momentarily as he steeled himself for her intrusion of his mind. When he reopened them, he let a slow breath hiss between his lips. Honey and warm tea washed over her face and she licked her lips instinctively, disappointed when the honey evaded her taste. Malfoy's hand quivered on the end of her wand as he raised his chin and met her gaze. "Okay."

" _Legilimens!"_

 _The oppression and fear was like an anvil, anchoring Malfoy to the spot. From his point of view, she saw herself bound to Ron and Harry—whose face was grotesquely swollen. His mother and father stood, looking at him with reluctant hope and Hermione knew he was in trouble. "You called for me, Mother?" he asked, taking one more hesitant step into the room._

" _Draco, come closer, darling. Tell me, is this Harry Potter?" Narcissa asked and the werewolf Greyback turned them so that Harry was directly under the chandelier, illuminating his lumpy face._

 _A war began brewing within Malfoy, one that made him raise his hand a run it over his heart as he made his way to the trio. In his thoughts, he took note of how sickly Hermione looked, how war-worn they all appeared. His eyes flickered from the paled, dirty trio to his mother. His heart was thrumming painfully and indecision engulfed him completely._

 _A gentle tickle rippled the air around him, a foreign magic and he furrowed his brow. "Draco," came her voice, and his eyes darted to where she stared into the mirror, a dazed look on her face. Hermione wondered at the peculiar countenance of her reflection, and Malfoy felt as confused in his memory as she did now. "Draco. We're in trouble. Please. You have to help us get out of here."_

 _He was facing Harry, but his eyes were travelling over her odd stare. His thoughts were whirring, wondering how she was communicating, seemingly telepathically. The image of him with the peacocks entered his mind as the air shimmered around him once more._

 _Everyone in the room was urging him to identify them, but his focus was solely on her face, all other sound falling on deaf ears. "The peacocks? That was you with me?" he whispered so quietly, he may not have even spoken._

 _When Hermione gave a subtle nod, the terror and confusion filled him once more. His father was shouting at him._ " _ **But then, that's the Weasley boy! It's them, Potter's friends—Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name-?"**_

 _His eyes glanced over his mother once more as he rose and turned his back on them. "Yeah. It could be," and the self-deprecation he was feeling was enough to make Hermione choke as though she were drowning on his behalf._

" _ **What is this? What's happened, Cissy?"**_ _It was a voice she recalled as belonging to Bellatrix Lestrange and she could feel the prickling, agonizing alarm as Malfoy quietly swore under his breath. His head shook side to side slowly, and he refused to acknowledge any of his aunt's questions._ " _ **But surely, this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"**_

 _Malfoy's eyes met hers and his every limb shook beneath the fabric of his suit. Conflict raged within him as different scenarios, all ending with Bellatrix murdering him savagely or Voldemort slitting his mother's throat, played like a flip book in his mind. Nausea welled within him as he watched his father and aunt argue over who would call the snake-like bastard._

 _Bellatrix shot Stunning Spells at the bountyhunters._ " _ **Draco, move this scum outside. If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me,"**_ _she instructed, and his feet began moving toward them, though Hermione could feel his desire to rebel. He began trying to formulate a plan on how to overthrow his family, though each one cleared with a subtle shake of his head._

 _Shooting a glance at the Trio, lingering for a moment on Hermione, Malfoy levitated the two unconscious men out of the room. He quickly dropped them amidst his mother's withering begonias and jogged back into the drawing room._

" _ **Wait! All except…except for the Mudblood,"**_ _Bellatrix was instructing, and the twistedly perverted gleam Greyback's eye made Malfoy's stomach turn. Hermione felt her own heart smothering her as she watched through Malfoy's vision._

 _Ron thrashed violently and Hermione heard herself gasp as she watched Bellatrix grab a handful of her hair and pull her along the rug. As Greyback pulled Ron and Harry away, he landed a thwacking punch to the redhead's lip._

 _Hermione watched as Bellatrix climbed atop her, twisted and winding her dirty fingers within her curls to hold her head still. Screams rang and echoed through the room and Malfoy's body felt as though he would be sick as his hand went over his mouth. Ron's bellowing screeches mixed vulgarly with her wailing as Malfoy moved closer to her._

" _Stop screaming! It only makes it worse!" Malfoy's lips hadn't moved, but clearly she'd heard his instructions because she snapped her jaw shut. Concern and crippling worry rang through Malfoy's body and Hermione felt as he harnessed every bit of magic he contained to perform a wandless, wordless spell. Her body stopped moving and relief washed over him, before a fresh wave of terror. "Keep thrashing, so she doesn't suspect anything," his voice instructed as he used Legilimency to communicate with her._

 _Malfoy concentrated and Hermione wondered at his actions before seeing herself berating Ron for leaving them in the woods. Harry and Ron told of how the sword of Gryffindor—the very thing Bellatrix had been screeching about for the past few minutes—had appeared at the bottom of a lake. Instead of feeling relieved, Hermione could tell Malfoy felt a renewed wave of fright. Entering her now-cleared mind, he demanded, "It's real?" and Hermione nodded from the floor._

 _Bellatrix withdrew a dagger from her boot and Hermione felt a sense of dread as she watched, knowing instinctively what was to come. Her voice entered Malfoy's subconscious as he picked around in her mind. "We will win the War, I've seen it! But we need to get out of here!"_

 _Bellatrix's dagger dug into the pale flesh of her arm and Hermione could tell that Malfoy's earlier Cooling Spell hadn't been enough to stave off the pain. He closed his eyes to her suffering, swallowing vomit and saliva rapidly. He mentally focused his attention to her arm and cast a spell to solidify her blood and harden her skin's exterior. "Her blood is so thick with sullied mud that she doesn't even bleed right!" his aunt huffed, causing Malfoy to open his eyes._

 _MUDBLOOD. Hermione could feel the disgust and remorse within him as he continued his effort to stymie the bleeding, fighting to keep her alive despite her wounds._

" _ **You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it!**_ _**You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"**_

 _His thoughts were jumbled though a plan formulated and Hermione knew what he was to do a split second before it happened. Her body stilled on the floor and Malfoy's eyes flickered from a spot on his aunt's dress to just above Hermione's right hip. He closed his eyes as he entered her mind, his voice now frantic. "I don't know what is in that vault at Gringotts, but you need to get there and quick. I have levitated a hair from her dress to your body. It is stuck by your right pocket. Make a polyjuice potion and get whatever is in that vault. It must be precious to the Dark Lord or she would not be acting this way. And Granger? I'm sorry I couldn't stop her. The elf is here. He will rescue you."_

Hermione's wand wobbled dangerously in her hand until she dropped it in between them. The same hand went over her mouth, afraid she would be sickened by what she'd seen. Malfoy was already pulling at her arms, ushering her into an embrace when she realized that she was crying silently. Shushing her and running a hand over her hair, he whispered his remorseful condolences and she buried her face into his neck. Her fingers clawed into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him as tears splashed from her cheeks and ran rivulets over his neck and collarbone.

The lump in her throat was suffocating as she repeatedly envisioned herself writhing under Bellatrix's grasp. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for it all. You have to believe me, Granger, if I could do it all over again, I would have killed her." Malfoy's voice sounded distant, like it was being filtered through water though the deep timber of it vibrated through her.

"I thought," she began, clenching her eyes from against the fabric of his shirt, "I thought I could handle it. I _lived_ through it!"

"You were fighting to survive then—shock and desperation likely numbed your despair and drove your will to live. You'd been on the run with Potter for months and _months_ and were so close to finding all of the Horcruxes. You knew that surviving was the only way to win the war and you persevered. Watching it now, even with the danger of your attacker remaining uncaptured, is different. You can allow yourself to feel these emotions now."

It was the first real, prolonged contact she'd shared with Malfoy since her awakening, but she found his voice and embrace soothing. Willing the lingering remnants of the memory of Malfoy's anguish to dissipate, she gulped down air until her breathing returned to a normal speed and her tears began to dry. Hermione leaned back, retrieving her forgotten wand to dry his shirt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made you relive that, either."

"I'm not the one who lost my memory," he murmured quietly, dropping his eyes to stare at his hands in his lap. "I can still taste the Dark Magic in the air, still hear Bellatrix's raging screams when you all escaped, still feel the seething in my veins from the resulting torture I received."

Hermione saw how utterly broken Malfoy was, how indescribably splintered he had become after the war shook her. Her two friends had nightmares, sure, but they had gone on to become Aurors and continue their work. But the wizard in front of her hadn't been afforded the same luxury. Of course, he'd been on the losing side. Harry had told her of Malfoy's trial, of the time he had spent in Azkaban waiting to be served his life's fate. Ginny had told of a reclusive Slytherin, alone and forlorn until a spritely and fierce bookworm had pulled him from the depressive abyss.

A tiny flame danced in her heart, licked at her compassion. _Rage._ She placed her fingertips under his chin to lift his face. Hermione began to feel enraged that someone had stolen the one thing that had held Draco Malfoy's shattered pieces together—her love. Without it, he was a hollow shell. He put on a smile and a mask of lessened pain, but staring within the icy depths of his gaze, she could see a man barely holding himself together enough to carry on another day.

"Malfoy," she paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, "we need to find whoever did this. And how. But first—"

"Potter has the book. He's been trying—"

She placed a finger over him to silence his utterances. "I want to watch the memories. All of them. I need to remember you; to remember _us_."

o-o-o

 _A/N: Well, we begin to see the old, protective Hermione showing through here, even after she had a weak moment._


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

"I can't believe you made this all by hand, Malfoy," Granger mused, running her fingers over the ornate doors of the memory cabinet. "It's beautiful craftsmanship, really."

Draco placed the piece of priceless furniture along the wall opposite the bed Hermione was utilizing in her stay at the Burrow. A blushing heat crept up his chest at her compliment, a smirk settling on his lips, as he tapped his wand to it and enlarged it to its new size. Once a small cabinet that rested on a table, it was now large as a wardrobe and stocked full of memories from the minds of anyone willing to give them. "Our friends, the Weasleys, a few of the past students of Hogwarts—they've all donated memories to better help you understand what exactly has happened since sixth year. Different perspectives of the War, outsiders' thoughts and viewpoints of our relationship. Of course," Draco mused, pointing with two fingers along the inside of the left door, "here's our memories. I've put as many as I can think of into it, and you'd contributed a few yourself...before."

She picked up a single vial, reading the tag along its neck. _Our First Kiss-D._ "Is it strange that I'm nervous to watch them?"

A hum caught in the back of his throat. _Is it strange?_ "I've organized them all by colour," he replied, plucking a black liquid from the rack. "Each tag specifies whose memory it is. Black for War memories—I truly hope you will watch these sparingly. Green for when we were becoming closer, first as friends. Clear for anything scrying or Divination related. Red for romance."

Granger lifted another vial and swirled a lilac liquid within. "And these?"

Draco's blush became decidedly more fierce. "Those are times where you and I…They're more _intimate_ moments."

His witch reduced him to a bumbling imbecile and he watched as she turned away from him and tucked behind her curtain of curls with a quiet, " _Oh!"_

"I thought they would be helpful. Perhaps once you and I get a little closer again."

A soft knock sounded at the door and Granger startled at the sound while Draco sighed at the interruption. Molly Weasley peered into the room. "Hermione, dear, Viktor is downstairs waiting to go to lunch."

She moved from the door to wrap her arm around the younger witch's shoulders. Draco stood where he was, jealousy burning like red hot pokers through his gut as his entire body stiffened. Mrs. Weasley looked over her shoulder as they crossed the threshold. "Draco, you're not leaving, are you? Come downstairs—I'd like you to taste my latest dish. It's missing a little something. Perhaps more coriander?"

Draco thought he'd rather smash his head through the Burrows grimy windows than to come face-to-face with Viktor Krum; to watch the Quidditch star fawn over _his_ witch. What if, in her lack of remembrance, Granger were to be equally enamored? The very idea made his stomach sour and his mind grew cloudy with images of Viktor and Hermione Krum, kissing at a lavender strewn altar.

Running a soothing hand over his heart, he followed them downstairs. _This is it. This is when she decides I'm nothing._ The gruff timber and broken English filtered through the warm home, assaulting his ears as he wished Krum would fall into memory-devoid coma of his own. "Hermy-own-ninny!" his voice grew lilted with appreciation and Draco clutched his fists at either side as he fought the urge to charge into the room and brutalize the idiot.

"Hello, Viktor!" Granger's sprightly reply made Draco's blood seeth in his veins. "It's been too long!"

"I couldn't agree more!" Krum replied, and Draco finally rounded the corner to find the oaf wrapping his arms around Granger, who giggled far too pleasantly for his liking. Krum's eyes met his and his smile fell as Draco crossed his arms and clenched his jaw so forcefully, he might have cracked a tooth. "Vot is _he_ doing here?"

"Draco and Hermione are reconnecting," Mrs. Weasley cut in, stoking the fire in the hearth pointlessly. "I think it's wonderful."

The Weasley matriarch moved from the room to the kitchen, raising a brow at Draco, trying to convey a message he couldn't quite pick up on. "Krum," he grunted, moving to sit on the arm of Granger's couch.

"Malfoy."

Granger looked between the two and cleared her throat. "I'm glad you could make it— I know your schedule is very busy these days."

Krum lifted his hand dismissively as Mrs. Weasley re-entered the room, a tea tray hovering next to her. The tea began pouring itself into three cups as she moved about the room, doing piddly chores in a clear display of eavesdropping. Draco rolled his eyes at her bluntness. Granger ignored the witch and continued speaking. "Malfoy and I have been working to become friends once more. He's brought what must be hundreds of memories and a pensive for me to watch them all. Maybe they'll trigger a glimmer of remembrance."

"Are you sure you vant to remember? You can read of the var in books. Everything else can be repaired vith time."

"Of course I'd like to recall my life. Why wouldn't I? From what I hear, I was madly in love." Her lips curved upward as she shot a furtive glance in Draco's direction.

"I must admit. I vould have thought this," Krum waved his hand, grasping for a word out of thin air, "this charade vold have ended by now."

Mrs. Weasley looked over her shoulder at his boldness, her eyes wide as tea saucers. "Charade?" Draco and Granger said at the same time, though Draco's came out with all of the ferocity he felt inside and she seemed genuinely affronted and confused by his attitude.

"This," Krum gestured toward Draco. "Do you have any idea _vot_ his family did? Of course not—you don't have memories anymore."

Draco stood, forcing Krum to do the same as they stared each other down. "How dare you—"

Granger looked to Draco as Krum took an advancing step forward and she placed her hand square in his chest. "No matter what happened during the War, I forgave him once, I can do it again."

"Has he reminded you that his _father_ vos directly responsible for the death of my mother?" Krum accused, looming over Granger's tiny frame from behind her.

She flipped around, her brows knitted in outright confusion as she looked up at Krum. _Here it is._ "What are you talking about?"

"His father sent for my mother in a plea for help. It vos a trap. They killed her. Sins of the father forever a stain on the son."

"Malfoy?" Granger asked, stepping away from Krum and wrapping her arms around herself between the two men.

Mrs. Weasley looked to Draco, hands on her hips as she tilted her head towards Granger, urging him to speak. "I don't think the sins of the father make the son equally guilty. Draco has been nothing but good to our Hermione and his heartbreak has been agonizing to watch."

"Malfoy? What is he talking about?"

A smug smirk bloomed across Krum's face. The particular event that Krum spoke of had, in fact, taken place. The Dark Lord was trying to lure some of the neutrals and nay-sayers of the upper Pureblood echelon out of hiding and Lucius had been tasked with the Krums. There was no spin he could put on the story to make his family seem even remotely innocent.

A harsh tapping at the kitchen window broke through the painful silence and Mrs. Weasley tutted as she swept around the men, shooting Draco a warning glare this time.

Rubbing clammy palms against the soft fabric of his trousers, he braced himself to tell the truth, his heart reluctant to lose her when they were only just beginning to recover. "During the War, the Dark Lord took up residence at the Manor. When it became evident that there were countless affluent and reputable Pureblood families floundering and refusing to join his cause, he sought to persuade them. Or to eliminate them. My Father was tasked with finding some of the more prominent families of Eastern Europe. Griselda Krum put up a fight—she led an underground resistance and put everyone before herself. It ultimately led to her death."

"You make that sound like a terrible grievance," Granger pointed out, her full lips turning down into a pouting frown.

Draco shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably as Krum glowered at him, a thinly veiled rage boiling just below the surface. "It's an admirable attribute, don't mistake what I am saying. But it's a foolish one if you wish to make it out of the Dark Lord's clutches. Krum was caught by my father and Corbin Yaxley on the border of Romania, smuggling children into a safe house. Yaxley used the Killing Curse while my father stood idly by."

Dread began to seep into every sinew of Draco's muscles and settled deep within his bones as his eyes followed the column of Granger's throat close around a gulp. After a pause that felt more like an eternity than the brief moment it surely was, she spoke. "Were you there?"

He shook his head vigorously. "No. I was at school at the time. I only found out later when my father's wand was taken without replacement. The Dark Lord deemed him weak and useless."

"What does this have to do with Draco, then?" she asked of Krum, whose brow furrowed and further made him look like a cro-magnon man.

"His family is Dark. They vill never change—you must see this."

"I visited with Mrs. Malfoy and Alya not long ago," she responded, looking over at Draco with a wry smile. "I must admit, they were pleasant in every way. I cannot speak for Lucius Malfoy, but he hasn't murdered me in cold blood...yet."

"Of course. It vold not suit him to kill their golden ticket to redemption."

With this, Draco took a step forward and Granger moved immediately to block Krum. The dread he'd felt prior was being replaced with a searing, crawling hatred. Once comrades, he wanted to tear the man across from him into small pieces. "Don't. You. _Ever._ Invalidate. My. Love. For. Hermione," he spat from between clenched teeth, sparks flying from the end of his wand as he fought to control the fury coursing through him.

Krum opened his mouth to respond just as Mrs. Weasley entered the room, her hand over her mouth. "We need to get to St. Mungo's. There's been another attack."

The three heated individuals looked toward the matronly witch and Krum ran a hand through his thick raven hair. "Who?"

"Luna Lovegood."

"Lovegood?" Draco tried to connect her in some way to any of the other attacks, his mind speeding through memories and photographs of deceased girls.

Granger let a long puff of air slide between her lips. "She's been seeing Theodore Nott."

"Let's not tarry," Mrs. Weasley ushered, a quill already scrawling a note on a scrap of parchment to Arthur in the air next to her.

Granger moved to make her way to the fireplace as Draco eyed Krum, his hatred still burning through him. Krum remained seated and ran a hand over his face. "I have no vish to see another one of you today," he pointed his finger at Draco. "It's a pity that others have to be hurt for you Death Eaters to get vot is coming for you."

o-o-o

Theo was in the room, seated next to Luna's tired frame as Xenophilius paced the length of the room, clutching a Deathly Hallows pendant between whitened knuckles. "Nott, what the hell happened?" Draco implored, staring at his friend's broken countenance.

"She was out picking her new crop of dirigible plums—I don't know if you've ever had the opportunity to taste her plum pie—"

Draco impatiently nodded, watching as Granger went to the opposite side of Lovegood's bed and bent forward to kiss the blonde's forehead. "Oh, Hermione!" Lovegood whispered hoarsely, nestling her head back into the pillows, "You've found your Gemini."

Granger looked up to Draco and Theo in turn and Draco put a hand up. "I'll explain later. Theo, you were saying?"

"We were picking plums. I'd gone inside to retrieve another basket and when I came out, Luna was falling to the ground—a Full Body Bind. She fell face first and hit her head against the stone steps. I tried to stop her, but I was trying to find the culprit. I saw nothing, Draco. _Nothing._ "

The emotions within Draco warred as he stared at Theo, trying to determine whether he was telling the truth. He hadn't admitted it aloud to Nott or Granger, but he'd once suspected that Theo may have been the one behind the attacks—particularly after Pansy had been murdered. He was a loose cannon during their repeat year at Hogwarts, attacking Pansy with Dark magic and always ruthless in his quest for retribution. But his face, soaked with tears and splotchy with his own brand of violent furor, showed no signs of deception. "What about her mental state?"

Theo scoffed lightly. "She was always quirky...but she keeps sputtering nonsensical phrases. More than usual."

Confused by the pairing, Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "What happened with Daph?" he asked, lowering his voice so Lovegood couldn't hear.

"I know what happened to you, and Granger," Theo's eyes went to Granger, who was speaking in hushed tones to a Healer in the hall, "was heavy. But you aren't the only ones who had their lives change recently. Daphne wanted more than I could possibly give right now."

With a furtive glance at the bed and then to the ever-pacing Lovegood father, Draco raised a brow. "And Lovegood? How did _this_ happen?"

"Luna's good for me. She's incredibly intelligent, maybe a little off her rocker, but the way she views the world—it's unlike anything I've ever heard or experienced before. And the physical connection," Theo mentioned, a saddened smile on his lips.

Draco nodded, trying to process the onslaught of information. Granger reentered the room, her cheeks drawn as she ran through whatever diagnosis the Healer had revealed. "She has a modified memory charm on her. It seems as though the person was attempting something similar to my attack but Theo's presence scared them off before they got far enough. There are," she glanced at Theo and fiddled with the hem of her jumper, "holes in her memories as well. Not filled in with anything new or skewed. Just dense, empty areas where memories once were."

"Why Luna, though?" Theo questioned, taking Lovegood's hand. "She's never hurt anyone. And I wasn't a Death Eater."

"Your father was," Granger replied, lifting one shoulder in a puzzled manner. "I don't know if this was revenge for his crimes."

"Sins of the father, a stain on the son?" Draco asked, his echos of Krum's earlier words dripping with disdain. "Am I to believe that weak argument is to blame for all of these foul happenstances?"

"I'm not insinuating that this is in anyway Theo's fault, Malfoy. I'm not against you here," she told him quietly, averting her eyes to the floor. "I'm simply trying to rationalize the attacker's motive."

"Do you think this is related to Pansy's death?" Draco asked Theo, finally vocalizing his accusation. "Vengeance, perhaps?"

Theo raised his head from his hands to give Draco an incredulous look. "You think _I_ killed Parkinson? Have you lost your fucking _mind?_ "

"You mutilated her," Draco countered in a harsh whisper.

"I gave her the Proditor's Brand, marking her as the traitor she was. But I didn't _murder_ her!" Theo was genuinely affronted and as Draco stared into the wizard's eyes, the hurt there caused a pang in his chest.

He dropped back against the wall and clapped a hand over Theo's shoulder. "Of course not, mate. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore."

"Nott, I brought—" a voice filtered in from the hallway, and Blaise Zabini's lithe frame filled the doorway. "Oh. I didn't realize _he_ was coming."

Draco looked to Blaise, whom he'd once considered a close friend. In the months following the War's end, Draco had tried repeatedly to reach out to him— sending countless letters, explaining his side of things, apologizing for ever putting Blaise into uncomfortable situations, for the shitstorm that was his role in the War. The Zabini family had stayed neutral, but because his mother was a fledgling member of wizarding society, a whore in the eyes of the Dark Lord, they'd been spared completely. Even still, he blamed Draco for Crabbe's death and had completely written Draco off after the War.

"Blaise," was Draco's solemn reply.

Theo glared at Blaise as he handed him a warm takeaway cup of tea. "Enough of that shit, Zabini. Come off it."

Licking his lips slowly, in a way that told Draco he would be all too happy to continue their dispute, Blaise gave a single nod. "You're the one who keeps saying he's some saint since getting with Granger. "

"' _Saint'_ never passed my lips. I merely pointed out that Draco has changed, for the better, since Granger came into the picture. He's healed a lot from what he went through."

Granger watched the trio interact from the opposite side of the bed, curiosity in her eyes as she took in the tension without knowing the full extent of the reasons behind the cleft in their group. The day—and its intruders—was grating on Draco's nerves, fraying his last strands of sanity. Exhaustion was setting in as he eyed the dimming light outside. Lovegood was sleeping, emitting light snores that made Theo's eyes shine. The burly wizard smacked his palms against his thighs and sighed. "I could really use a drink."

"Why don't we go to my place? I've just obtained a bottle of mermaids' mead, circa 1742," Blaise suggested, dropping his eyes away from Draco to raise a brow at Theo.

Theo stared down at the restful witch, running his fingers along the inside of her wrist. "Granger, you'll notify me if there are any changes to her condition?"

She nodded sympathetically, reaching across Lovegood's legs to give Theo's hand a gentle pat. "You go. I'll stay until visiting hours are over. The Healer said Harry would be coming 'round after a while."

"If Potter is coming, maybe we should stay. See if he has anything new or any leads yet."

"Theodore," Granger said softly, "go. I'll fill you in. I'm certain Harry doesn't have much to go on, or he would have been here by now."

The wizard waffled, finally allowing Blaise to lead him from the room with a glance back at Luna. Draco stood idly, his hands in his pockets as he tried to piece together the events of her attack, placing her mentally in a file with the graphic photographs of the other witches for later digestion.

"Come along, Malfoy. Quit fucking around," Theo called from the corridor.

o-o-o

A/N: Thank you for all of the follows, favorites, and reviews you all have sent in so far. I know that updates are slow and I can't promise when they'll pick up, but I am still working on this and have not abandoned this or any other story. I've had to focus on my own health this year and haven't felt much up to writing. I'm hoping to change that little by little. Thank you all for sticking by me and by our sweet Pariah. And, I promise, Dramione moments are coming soon. Very soon.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12:

Together, the Slytherin trio stepped into the floo in the lobby of St. Mungo's. Draco's nerves were on high alert, an unease settling into him that he couldn't shake. It was preposterous— these two men had been his best friends since childhood, for Merlin's sake. And yet, he'd thought one a murderer for months and the other had ignored him for nearly two years.

The two entered Blaise's study first, with Blaise stripping of his robe and tossing it over a nearby chair. A house elf appeared and made to hang the garment. "Would Master like two firewhiskys? Oh...three?" The tiny elf's voice rose as Draco stepped out of the floo.

"Make it three glasses of the mermaids' mead—as a matter of fact, bring the whole bottle. And we'll take it on the veranda, Bimby."

Absently, Draco notated the raggetty tea-towel dress the elf wore, imagining Granger's fierce lecture if she had seen such a sight. A small smile spread over his face and Blaise wrinkled his brow at the sight. He began walking from the study, down the brightly lit corridor that led to the back gardens of Zabini Manor. Where Malfoy and Nott Manors were extravagant in build and in design, a showcasing of the wealth of the families, Zabini Manor was far more modest. It boasted only four usable bedrooms, each sparsely decorated.

In typical Blaise fashion, he tried to make an off-handed joke about his quarters. "Nothing like Malfoy Manor is...well, _was..._ but we've made some improvements to the gardens."

He opened the French doors leading to the covered veranda and Draco gasped in surprise. Rows of lavender plants spread out as far as the eye could see, waving gently in the breeze. The scent was pleasant, carried in small bursts of wind, and making his head swirl. "Careful inhaling _too_ much. Just beyond the common variety here is a _Somniferum_ strain."

Somniferum? A common strain of poppies, but Draco had never heard of it being associated with lavender. His eyes scanned and there was a discernible separation, a line of demarcation where the deep purples faded to a lighter hue, one tinged with red undertones. "You've crossbred lavender and poppies?" he asked curiously as watched Blaise prop his feet on the patio table, an underlying arrogance in the set of his body.

"The first of their kind in wizarding Britain," Blaise nodded with a smug smirk. "A single plant sells for three galleons. Incredibly useful for calming and sleeping draughts." He withdrew a velvet sleeve from within his breast pocket and withdrew a cigar for each of them. He offered one to Theo, who wasted no time in clipping and lighting it with the end of his wand. "Malfoy?" he held it out for Draco to take, though the gesture was icy and formal.

Draco waved his hand in dismissal as he sank into his chair, the lavender's magical properties mixed with memories of a lavender-draped archway making him heady. Blaise went about readying and igniting his own cigar. He slowly blew a mesmerizing cloud around his head as he surveyed Draco. "So. Granger, huh?"

His dark eyes were watching every one of Draco's moves, calculating and scrutinizing. He always was the sharply astute Slytherin in the bunch, which had worked to Draco's advantage more times than he could count, but now made him apprehensive. He nodded slowly, the beat of his heart increasing in intervals as he thought of her beautiful face, of holding her close, of bringing her one single memory of _them_. "Turns out, muggle-borns aren't evil incarnate. Our parents were wrong."

Blaise rolled his eyes as Bimby appeared, three tumblers of mead and a crystal decanter on her tray. She served Blaise and Theo, and when she came around to Draco, her eyes grew wide and she bowed deeply. She looked at Draco's face full on when she stood upright, handing the glass to him directly. "Master Draco. Bimby is glad to see you here in Zabini Manor."

He couldn't quite understand the elf's countenance, but it seemed almost reluctant. He was certain the elf was trying to convey something without outright saying it. She was a young elf, so perhaps she'd only just heard of the elves living in Burgundy, assisting on his family's vineyard and was too shy to ask him about it in front of her master. Draco gave her a kind smile and nodded. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Bimby."

Blaise scoffed and lifted his glass to his lips as he raised one brow. "Gone soft, have you?"

"You can't date Hermione Granger without becoming somewhat civilized towards the help," Theo commented, giving Draco a wink as he swallowed down his libations in a single gulp.

"What else has she got you doing?" Blaise questioned, refilling both his and Theo's drinks. "Galavanting about and saving the orphans? I saw the write-up in the paper about all of your post-War good deeds."

"Believe it or not, Zabini," Draco gave his friend a stony glare and lifted his own drink to his lips, "I _can_ actually think for myself. And when I do, it turns out that some of my values are in line with what Granger thinks and feels is right."

Blaise studied him for a long moment before a grin spread across his face. "You're almost as you were when we were children, before school and your father got to you. Kind. Pleasant-mannered. Independent."

"Mate, you have no idea," Theo chimed in. "He's even on speaking terms with Potter and Weasley now."

Blaise sat back in his chair once more, absorbing all of the new information. "Well," another long billow of smoke eased from between his parted lips, "I s'pose you'd need allies after what happened to your witch. My condolences, of course."

"She's not dead. Merely...lacking any memory of me," Draco sighed as Theo let out a strangled noise. He clapped his hand on his friend's back and shook him gently. "It'll be okay, mate. We will get to the bottom of this. Whoever is responsible will be burned at the stake."

"Does the Ministry have any leads?"

Draco rubbed his temples as he mulled over every aspect of the case he knew from Potter's confessions. The photographs of the girls, of Pansy's lifeless remains, swirled in his head as he tried to shuffle each case into some semblance of order. "They're nearly at a loss. They'd been following Gaspard Minuet's disappearance as a possible break in the case. But it's been weeks and nothing has come of it."

"Minuet? The photographer?" Blaise sounded surprised.

Theo called for Bimby before asking, "You know him?"

"Of course, my mother has been in France with daddy number nine. Renault Durand—he's the owner of the French National Quidditch Team." Growing up, his mother's issues had weighed heavily on Blaise, a cause for many nights of sleeplessness and many days of embarrassment. Each man his mother married was once wealthy in his own right, but became nearly destitute as she bled him dry before divorcing. The other members of British pureblood society knew of her sordid affairs and seedy gambling addictions, so she often went to other communities to seek her next victim. "Minuet was always around, photographing the team members," he finished, momentarily taken with the swirling of the liquid in his glass.

Theo and Draco exchanged a glance, both trying to piece together a puzzle that lacked in sensical order. Minuet was due to photograph Quidditch teams in Britain the day he'd taken the engagement photos and he was likely there in Quality Quidditch Supplies, photographing the Bulgarian team the day of the attack. Blaise cleared his throat. "Of course, Minuet is dead. So the Ministry's theories are all wrong."

"Dead?" Theo and Draco asked simultaneously as the glass slipped from Draco's hand and shattered between his feet.

Startled, Blaise cleaned the glass away from the patio floor and nodded. "It was in the _Prophet_ this morning. Merlin—don't either of you read the paper anymore?"

"I was preoccupied," Theo shrugged, though he was now staring at the ground with a harsh concentration.

"Granger came to the house," was Draco's only response as he studied Blaise's features absently.

They were silent for a moment before Theo groaned and ran his hands over his face. "Merlin, fuck. I can't think about this anymore tonight. Pour me another."

Blaise obliged and Draco attempted to change the subject, though his mind was racing. Why hadn't Potter been around to tell them as soon as he found out? "So what have you been doing, Zabini?"

"Working with my step-father in France, mostly. He's grooming me to take over his position so he and my mother can go travelling."

"Owner of a Quidditch team and barely out of school. You must be the youngest wizard in history to do such," Draco commented, a small measure of genuine awe detectable in the back of his brain, though he focused very little on the words Blaise spoke.

Blaise smiled widely, clearly proud to be noticed as such. "I've worked hard to drag myself out of the shadows of darkness our House, affiliations, and families left on us all. To make a fresh name for myself. Renault has taught me everything he knows, and I'm leading the talks with the Bulgarian team to buy them out. If I can close that deal, I will be one of Britain's ' _Wealthiest Under Thirty.'_ Witches will fall on their knees before me."

"Your preferred stance," Draco scoffed, refilling his mended tumbler with more mead.

o-o-o

Hermione left Luna's side only when the bells chimed that visiting hours were over. Luna's memory was in, perhaps, an even more precarious state than hers. She remembered random bits and pieces, but couldn't put them into any discernible pattern. Though she spoke, it was in fragments, odd recollections from childhood mixing with memories of her recent relationship with Theo.

The Burrow was quiet when she arrived back. The home was rarely so still in their youth, but she found the place to be oppressively calm in the wake of the war. Ginny stayed more often than not with Harry at Grimmauld Place, Ron was living in his own flat, George came and went, the specter of his twin following him like a dark shadow. Most days, it was only the Weasley parents in the house.

She crept up the stairs, noting with a frown the glow coming from the crack under Ginny's door. After the day she'd had, she had no desire to entertain the redhead. Taking a warm bath and delving into the memories sounded far more appealing. Pausing at the door, she rested her forehead against the worn wood and a smile crept across her face at what she felt.

His magic. Strong, pulsating vibrations that mingled and played lovingly with the magic in her own veins, old lovers reunited once more. She opened the door to find him sitting at the desk, reading one of her books on memory charms, his brow furrowed. "Hey."

"Minuet is dead."

Hermione was taken aback by this revelation, startled by his lack of a real greeting. His tone was laden with worry and his eyes filled with consternation. "How—"

"It was in today's _Prophet_. Some Muggles found him in the foothills of the Pyrenees, buried under the snow, his throat slashed."

He extended a copy of the paper to her, which she read in record speed. While she couldn't remember much about the man, she knew he was Harry's only real lead. _Harry._ "Have you heard from Harry or Ron?"

"Not yet. I suspect they are doing some damage control with the Muggles and with the press. They have no other suspects right now, and I'm sure there is a public uproar right now. Mass pandemonium is likely to break out if they can't calm the crowds. Everyone is rightfully scared that there's a madman on the loose."

Hermione collapsed on the bed, her legs suddenly too heavy to hold her upright. She flopped back into the bedding, pressing the heels of her palms tightly against her eyes, hoping to quell the headache beginning to form. "We need to get copies of the case files. There has to be some piece of information that is being overlooked."

Malfoy sat on the bed next to her, leaning back on one palm and looking down at her as though she were completely barmy. "Have you gone mad, witch? You getting involved is against the law. Your friends could lose their positions within the Aurors Department. Not to mention, the more involved you get, the more information you are able to glean, the larger the target on your back becomes."

Hermione hated to admit that he was right on all accounts. But more so, she hated the fact that her mind was already devising a way to get a copy of the files. She wasn't one to back down so readily. Surely, he would know that. Exhaling a long, drawn out breath, she dropped her hands from her eyes and attempted to focus on Malfoy's face through the spots in her vision left by the pressure of her palms. He raised a pale brow, his normally full lips pursed into a tight line. "Whatever plan your brain is concocting, don't even think about it. At least not for tonight—it's been a long enough day." With a defeated sigh, he straightened himself out and stood, stretching his neck from side to side with a _crack_. "I'd better be going."

A peculiar sort of panic wracked Hermione's entire body at the idea of him leaving her alone that evening. She didn't know if it was the sudden realization that there really was an unnamed murderer stalking the night. Or perhaps the thought of losing his soothing magical reverberations, of having their magical cores untangle and drift apart was simply too much to bear for her weary soul. "Please don't."

Malfoy's eyes darted to hers and the rosy tip of his tongue glided along his bottom lip as he not-so-subtly eyed the bed beneath her and then looked away with a blush playing at his cheeks. Hermione let out a gentle huff of a laugh and grabbed a pillow, swatting him in the shoulder. "Don't get any ideas, _Malfoy_."

At her playful tone, Malfoy turned back to face her with a smirk. "Did you want to try scrying again?"

With that, he fumbled in the pocket of his robes and withdrew a mirror, set in elegantly carved mahogany. Grateful for the distraction from thoughts of Luna and Minuet and Pansy's lifeless body, Hermione sat with her back to the headboard, crossing her legs. Malfoy slipped off his robes and shoes, leaving a pair of black trousers and a black turtleneck jumper, which he pulled the sleeves back on. He settled himself across from her, delicately placing the mirror between them and looking up at her expectantly. "Okay. Give it a try."

With a skeptical glance down at the mirror, she looked back at him with a slight shrug of her shoulder. "How?"

"You figured this out on your own once before," he teased, and Hermione leaned over and peered at her reflection in the obsidian face. He took her hand and placed it, palm up in his own.

An emerald flame ignited in her palm and sent a strange sensation into her hand, warming her entire body in turn. It was almost as though the flame itself held all of the wisdom and knowledge. "Now," Malfoy was speaking in a whisper, "place one finger on the mirror and ask it to show you something. Silently."

"Like what?"

"Well...previously, you could only See instances that pertained to matters of the heart."

Hermione looked at the mirror once more, absurdly intimidated by the hunk of rock and wood. "You can do this with me?" she asked, and Malfoy laced his fingers with hers, causing a fresh wave of butterflies to cascade from her esophagus to her belly.

He placed both of their fingertips against the cold, smooth surface and gave her an expectant look, a gleam of excitement in his eye. Worrying her lip between her teeth, Hermione scrambled to find a question to ask of the mirror, an absurd notion to begin with. Finally, she settled on, " _Show me when he first knew love."_

 _The surface of the mirror hazed over and a scene appeared before her eyes, drawing her in. In the mere blink of an eye, they were standing on the stairs in the stands of a massive Quidditch pitch._

 _A booming voice came over the loudspeaker. "It appears our very own Hermione Granger, one of the three saviors of the wizarding world, is in attendance today. And who is that she's with? It couldn't possibly be Draco Malfoy!"_

 _Hermione whirled around to see, with some degree of mortification, that their faces were plastered over a large screen opposite them. "Draco? Where are we?"_

" _We're watching the Cannons get absolutely annihilated by my Falcons. But," he turned to her with a wide, coy smile, "that wasn't even my favorite part of the whole date. Just watch." The commentary continued about why she would be seen in public with the Malfoy heir, and she felt herself growing indignant for her past self. How dare the announcer publicly question Malfoy's motives and humiliate him in front of a packed stadium? "Does he want to use her status for his gain? Is it young love?"_

 _The Malfoy that stood next to her was still beaming, even as he looked on at the younger version of himself on the screen. "This is one of my favorite memories to watch."_

 _Vision-Malfoy grimaced and looked down at his hands dejectedly, while the one next to her spoke the lines she tried to lip read. "I told you this was a bad idea, Granger. But you never want to listen to me!"_

" _I don't care what they're saying," he mimicked her higher pitched voice and she swatted him again, in awe of the energy buzzing around them._

 _He proceeded to speak the lines, but this time, he even gave himself a false voice, one that sounded over-the-top melancholy and dreadful. "Why? This is what it will always be like, Granger. I told you this since day one. Why would you even want to come here?"_

 _Hermione watched as the Visions on the screen interacted. Vision-Malfoy had a wilted set to his shoulders and she wore a mask of righteous determination. Brazen as she had apparently become in the days following the war, she laughed as the larger-than-life version of herself winked at the camera man. Malfoy's voice beside her quieted as he spoke the next few lines. Instead of watching the screen, she watched the man next to her, listened to the catch in his throat as he recited long-memorized lines. It broke her heart to see the glassiness in his eyes._

" _I love you, Draco."_

 _Hermione's head snapped back to the screen just in time to see his eyebrows lift high into his hairline and a smile play across his face. Her mouth parted as she watched herself run a finger over his flushed cheek, a look of pure love and adoration on her face. "I am here because I love you. I wanted to bring you to something that I knew you'd enjoy—which you have. Forget everyone else. Let them talk. I absolutely adore you. Spending time with you, your personality, the way you try to be the unworthy, broken man but fall into being the caring, loving and selfless one instead. I want to be with you every day for the rest of my life. Fuck them," she told him, gesturing to the reporters._

Hermione laughed at her own language as the scene began to melt away and Percy's room at the Burrow came into focus. With a groan, she jabbed her finger at the mirror. "No! I wanted to see it through! Did you say it back? What was everyone's reactions?"

Malfoy's smiled faltered slightly before he gave her a determined grin. "They didn't take too kindly to it. But, as you said, fuck them."

Hermione was gnawing at her bottom lip once again, staring at the empty surface. "How do I know you didn't influence it somehow? How can I be certain that really took place?"

A pained expression flitted across Malfoy's face as he averted his eyes and grimaced. Hermione placed her hand over his, feeling like a complete jackass. "I didn't mean that to come out that way. I just meant...we have this connection between our magical cores. How can we be certain that _you_ don't also have some Seer's blood that influences visions?"

"I can assure you, Granger, I am no Seer. That was all you. Here, try by yourself," he told her, scooting the mirror closer to her knees and tucking his hands into his lap.

Hermione stared at the reflection of the emerald flame in the inky mirror, excitement causing her belly to roll and her mouth to become dry. " _Show me when I first felt love."_

She listened to the even tone of Malfoy's breathing as she focused on the flicker of the flame. The dark void remained and she huffed impatiently. "I told you I couldn't do this. That it was you all along."

"Focus, Granger. Try to clear your mind of all thoughts and emotions and focus only on the question you asked."

She glared in his direction but took a deep, calming breath as she rolled her shoulders and shook her arms to relax her body. Malfoy chuckled across from her, watching her relaxation methods with far too much amusement. She ignored him and opened her eyes to again focus on the jumping dance of the fire. Attempting to clear her mind, she thought only of the flame, of the feeling of untapped wisdom it held. Finally, after a few long moments, the obsidian frosted over with a murky haze before showing her a bright scene. She pressed her finger harder and closed her eyes for a second.

 _She was met with the warmth of a fire and the scent of cinnamon. A clicking noise and the creak of mattress springs made her open her eyes. She was in a room she didn't recognize but must have been her private suite at Hogwarts, as it was filled with her belongings. Her Vision self was wearing a set of ratty old pajamas, and she wrinkled her nose at the sight as her Vision sprung from the bed, a paranoid gleam in her eye and her wand at the ready. There was a garbled, strangling noise from just outside the door and Hermione followed herself, curiosity biting at her nerves._

 _She swung the door open to reveal a bruised and battered Draco Malfoy, blood and tears mixing in crimson and pink rivulets over his cheeks and nose. Hermione felt herself gasp, the same reaction her Vision had as well. "What happened?" she demanded, her voice falling on the Visions' deaf ears._

 _Malfoy was choking on sobs, his shoulders quaking with each heaving breath. Vision-Hermione rushed to him, asking in a shrill voice, "What happened to you?"_

 _He shook his head as Hermione came to stand next to the pair, searching his face. "I can't keep doing this. I don't know why I ever wanted to come back here."_

 _Vision-Hermione pushed him back toward the bed as he swayed on unsteady feet. "What happened?"_

 _Hermione watched as he avoided contact with the Vision of herself. He was embarrassed, this she could tell. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she watched them interact. Malfoy had never mentioned to her before that he had been attacked so brutally in school. "I'm reaping what I've sown."_

 _The light from her lamp bathed him in a warm glow, turning his features macabre. His nose was clearly broken, still spewing forth a steady stream of blood. Lacerations littered his porcelain features, swelling his lips and brow. From the hunch of his shoulders and the way he was hugging his middle, Hermione knew his ribs had to be broken or fractured._

" _Who did this to you?" Vision-Hermione questioned before muttering some healing spells. With a cringeworthy crack, she snapped his nose back into place and Hermione winced. Vision-Hermione disappeared into the bathroom and Malfoy watched her go before shaking his head and burying it in his hands. The sound of his weeping pulled at Hermione's heartstrings, causing a dull aching in her chest._

 _Vision-Hermione tenderly lifted his face with a delicate finger under his chin. "Come on, lift your face so I can clean it."_

 _Hermione stepped in beside them and ran her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, and she remembered something Malfoy had told her about being a Beholder. Touching individuals in her visions could connect her to them more completely. His breathing was rapid, almost to a dangerous level and he trembled harshly. "Calm down. Don't cry," her Vision self implored in dulcet tones._

 _He buried his face into his arm and bent forward, a fresh round of morose tears staining the sleeve of his shirt. Vision-Hermione crowded around him protectively, as though she could block him from the world beyond her bedroom door. "Come on, hush that now. Tell me what's happened, Draco."_

" _What does it look like? I got my arse handed to me."_

 _That was an understatement._

" _Who did it?"_

 _He shook his head. "I don't want you going after anyone. This is my issue."_

 _Hermione knew she had championed for him on more than one occasion, though she felt a surge of guilt over the idea that, according to Malfoy, she had once given the now-deceased Pansy a set of heifer horns._

" _Who?" she persisted. Hermione nodded at her Vision-self. Good, don't let him withdraw into himself._

 _The look on his face told Vision-Hermione everything that she needed to know: they were Slytherins. Recognition dawned on her Vision's face and she watched herself grind her teeth briefly. "Take this off and I'll repair what I can."_

 _Hermione let out a small squeak of indignation and horror when he dragged his short over his head. Deep scars ran across his pectorals and a long, diagonal, raised scar—purple and violent—split his torso in two. He ran a palm over it, averting his eyes. "Potter's Sectumsempra…pretty impressive piece of Dark magic."_

" _And the others?"_

" _The Dark Lord…the other Death Eaters…" he shrugged once more._

" _Fuck," Hermione whispered, watching as her Vision-self nodded knowingly. She wondered what exactly she knew. One thing was for certain: she needed to watch the memories from the War._

The scene faded and Malfoy's face came into view. His brow was furrowed with concern and he was leaning forward, watching her intently. "You're crying. What did you see?"

Hermione swiped at her cheeks and noticed for the first time that she was, in fact, silently crying. "What happened to you? The night you came to me and I mended you."

Malfoy leaned back, caught completely off guard by her question. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. "You didn't see the end of the scene then."

She shook her head slowly, irritated that the mirror had cut the vision short for a second time. He blew an exhale of air and looked at the offending object. "It must be showing you only what you need. Maybe it wants you to view the memories instead."

"Why?"

"These were two emotional moments for us. Maybe the mirror wants you to feel the emotions through the memories to really connect with them." Malfoy shrugged a shoulder. "Tools of Divination are often fickle and confusing. What did you ask it to get those two specific scenes from our past?"

"I asked for the moment you knew you were loved. And then," Hermione could feel the blush creeping up her neck as her throat went dry once more, "I asked to see when I first felt love."

His eyes widened and he gave a grim half-smile. "Really? _That_ night? Not any of the other times we flirted shamelessly or I romanced you. No. You fell in love the night I had my arse kicked. Lovely."

Hermione laughed at his playfully indignant tone and placed the mirror on her bedside table. "I've Seen enough for one night. My mind is a mess of haze and exhaustion."

Malfoy scrubbed a hand over his face and checked his watch. "It's getting late."

"You'll stay, won't you?" she asked, her heart racing both at the thought of him leaving and the thought of him staying.

He climbed up the bed and sat next to her against the headboard. "For a bit. I don't think Molly Weasley would take too kindly to us sharing a bed so soon."

o-o-o

A/N: A happiest of holidays to you and yours! Thank you for all of those love you've given this story!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

Crimson. Vermillion. Scarlet. Not a single one of these shades was harsh enough to describe the variation of red Hermione was currently seeing as she stood from her desk. Anger pulsed through her body, sending sparks crackling about the tips of her fingers, her hair to frizz and grow in volume. _The audacity._

Drawing her wand from within her sleeve, she set the letter ablaze, huffing at the singe mark it left in the oak of the desk. Oliver Wood had some gall. Hermione couldn't remember speaking to him since he had left Hogwarts a few years ahead of them, except for the odd "hello" when they bumped into one another around Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade.

 _And Viktor_. That complete and total prat. The words from Oliver's letter rattled around in her skull, taunting her and jumbling enough to create a migraine. " _Viktor tells me that Malfoy acted suspicious during their little run-in at the Weasley house. That his protectiveness was a lesson in dramatics. Hermione, if you believe this prick's lies then you have truly failed to be the Brightest Witch of Your Age."_

What the fuck did Oliver even want with her? She made a mental note to ask Harry if they'd formed some kind of a friendship. Or had they been more before she'd returned to Hogwarts? The last lines of his letter sent shivers of unease down her back as she failed to recall the role Oliver Wood played in her life. " _I wish you could see that there are reputable and stable men in this world, men who watched you grow into the witch you are now—without making your life hell in the process. If you come to your senses, I'd love to prove that there is still some good in this world."_

The words he'd penned left a bitter, metallic taste at the back of her throat as she tried to swallow down the rage she felt at his belittling missive. On multiple occasions since their attack, Malfoy had proven that his prejudices had died with the war. Hermione knew only what she could glean from books and her friends' few non-descript stories of the intricacies of the war, but it was evident that it had changed everyone irreparably. And in the case of the wizard in question, she knew his experiences had worked to morph him into a reputable and kind-hearted wizard.

While the entire outside world seemed to believe that her relationship with Malfoy was a farce, her own friends believed him to be true. With this knowledge, a determination began to burn afresh in her chest as she strode to the memory cabinet and began plucking all ebony liquids from within. She sat cross-legged on her bed and began reading the small tags on each. " _The Snatchers-Harry." "I fucked up and left-Ron."_ Hermione rolled her eyes at that one—Ron had certainly always had a knack for messing things up. She'd save that particular memory for later, seeing as she recalled six whole years at Hogwarts of him making mistakes and fighting to correct them later.

" _Fred's Funeral-Ginny." "Tonks' and Lupin's Funeral-Harry." "Crabbe's Fiendfyre-D." "Potter Watch-George." "Christmas in Godric's Hollow-Harry." "The Most Awkward Kiss in the History of All Kisses-Ron."_ Hermione laughed bitterly at that one. Coming out of her memory-wiped coma, she'd still believed herself in love with Ron. In the time since, it was evident that there was nothing more than friendship between the two of them.

Amidst all of the vials, laden with heavy memories that plagued wizarding-kind each night as heads were laid to rest, was a tag that stuck out more than the others. " _Taking the Dark Mark-D."_ Hermione lifted the vial between two fingers delicately, as though the mere liquid contents could burn the Mark into her skin. Eyeing the silvery mix, sparkling with the coal colored fragments Malfoy had used to color the memory, she waved her wand toward the pensieve and it emerged from the cabinet.

This memory was sure to be one of the darkest Malfoy had to offer, something that likely plagued his every waking moment since. And yet, he had included it with all of the others, a measure of his trust in her and his knowledge of her love for him. With a shaking hand, Hermione poured the wispy thread of liquid into the basin and took a deep breath.

A scene was beginning to swirl, Theo Nott's face distorting as he gesticulated violently toward Malfoy. Hermione's curiosity outweighed the nauseated discomfort in her belly and she bent low, taking a calming breath before plunging her face into the memory.

 _Malfoy sat stiffly on his bed, Theo sitting alongside him in a chair, his feet propped up in a false ease. Harry and Ron had stalked Malfoy the entirety of their last year before the war, determined to prove he had joined Voldemort's ranks. All along, determined to prove her friends wrong, Hermione had studied Malfoy from afar, taking in the subtle changes to his face each day. The frown that had been permanently affixed to his features that year was already tight in place, but the violet rings were only just beginning to appear under his eyes, his cheeks not quite as gaunt as they'd soon become. So this scene was before sixth year. Her friends had, agitatingly, been correct in their timeline._

 _With worry furrowing his brow and coloring his tone, Malfoy managed to croak out, "What am I going to do, Theo?"_

 _Theo was leaning back in his chair. At first glance, he almost appeared relaxed. But Hermione noticed the tense set of his shoulders, heard the quiet clicks in his jaw as he mulled over his response. "I don't have a good answer for you, mate."_

 _Malfoy dropped his head back against the headboard, repeatedly lifting and dropping it with a heavy thud. "With father in prison, the Dark Lord expects me to take his place."_

" _The Dark Lord," Theo spat the title as he finally sat up quickly, glaring at his friend, "wants to kill you in retribution for your father's shortcomings." He gestured toward the window, at what, Hermione couldn't see. She suspected it was an empty gesture toward Azkaban._

 _Malfoy picked his head up from the mahogany and returned the glowering stare Theo gave him. "Well, he's going to kill me_ and _my mother if I refuse."_

 _Hermione raised her brows, her lips parting. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised by such a declaration—Harry had mentioned Malfoy's plight when he relayed the tale of Dumbledore's death. But to hear the desperation in Malfoy's voice was unnerving, especially as she tried to assimilate this scared boy with the war-wearied wizard he'd become. Theo was displeased as he scrubbed a hand over his face and pursed his lips. Malfoy rose to pace the floors alongside his bed. He paused for a moment at the window, looking down at a vase of baby's breath on his desk. Hermione watched as he brushed his fingers over it lovingly before taking a sprig and running it along the curves of his jaw. With his back to Hermione, she heard rather than saw the agony he felt. "My mother shouldn't have to die because her only son is a coward, Theo."_

" _It's not cowardly to be against homicide, Draco."_

 _Malfoy stared out of the window, out across the expansive gardens and grounds surrounding the Manor, twirling the flowers in his hand absently. "I'm just going to have to do it. I'm just going to have to take the Mark and kill the old man. My mother's life depends on it."_

 _Theo rose and ambled heavily toward where his friend stood, coming to rest by his side to look vacantly over the countryside. Clasping his hands behind his back, he asked,_ " _And what about your life? If you should fail?"_

" _Then at least I'll have died serving my family and my Master."_

 _Theo scoffed and turned to look at Malfoy. "He's no more your Master than I. You've never bought into any of those pure-blood ideologies. It's one thing to put on a show at school to save face, but it is something altogether different to kill a man for a cause you don't believe in, Draco."_

 _Malfoy turned away from the window and his stare bore into his friend's eyes, a panicked anguish coloring his cheeks. "What other choice do I have, Nott? Hmm? Give me a way out. I would rather die trying to save Mother than have to watch her suffer or worse, be forced to kill her."_

 _Hermione put a hand to her chest, flashes of Malfoy standing over his mother riddling her brain. Narcissa had been so kind to her since the attack, so motherly in a time when Hermione's own mother was making her life hell. The pain such an action would have caused Malfoy was nearly too much for her to even try to fathom. His heart was so pure, so tender in this post-war life._

 _Theo studied him for a long moment, defeat evident as he was unable to meet Malfoy's request. "What of Granger?"_

 _Hermione raised a brow, trying to remember any interaction she may have had with the Slytherin in her years at school that would warrant such a question. He'd been cruel to her, played his role so well that he couldn't possibly have felt anything for her in those years. Malfoy recoiled lightly and turned toward the window once more. "What of her?" he finally asked after a pregnant pause._

" _She will never accept you with a Mark on your arm and Dumbledore's blood on your hands."_

 _Oh the irony of that statement as she fell in love with the facilitator of the Headmaster's death for, not the first, but the second time._

…

" _Bring in the boy," Voldemort commanded, his voice the harsh hiss of Parseltongue even now._

 _A hulking man with patches of grey hair—no, fur—and menacing yellow eyes stalked toward a large set of heavy wooden doors. All around Hermione stood dozens of Death Eaters, their tattered robes dragging along the ground, faces of evil hidden behind pewter and silver. They were silent, every set of eyes staring adoringly at their Master, waiting with bated breath for his commands to be met._

 _It wasn't long before the werewolf returned, nearly dragging Malfoy in his grasp. Surely, Malfoy was indignant about receiving such treatment in his own home, but fright painted his features so wholly, she doubted anything besides his fate even crossed his mind. Hermione walked around to where he was released in front of the dais and Malfoy dropped into a low bow before falling to his knees, his head angled toward the floor. The quivering in his voice echoed through the room, causing a few chuckles from the others as he addressed, "My Lord."_

 _Voldemort sat on a high-backed leather chair, teeth and bone fragments hanging from various places. Hermione watched as he tented his hands in front of his face and eyed the teenager. Her own heart beat rapidly, fear and animosity coursing through her and causing her legs to quake. "Young Malfoy."_

 _With a harsh, "Rise!" Malfoy's body rose into a standing position, his back and posture contorted with pain from the forced magic. Bones popped and tears formed at the corners of Malfoy's eyes as he strained the muscles in his jaw against the agony. Voldemort circled the boy, eyeing him as a vulture circles carrion. "So, you want to join my ranks, eh?"_

 _A manic cackle rang clear as a bell in the room, the high-pitched insanity of Bellatrix Lestrange._ " _He thinks he can play with the big boys."_

 _Fighting Voldemort's stiff magical grip, Malfoy lifted his head in proud defiance and Hermione felt a surge of pity as a few others taunted him and their Master smirked at their antics. "Crucio!" the monster roared._

 _Malfoy's body dropped with a sickening thud to the marble and he writhed in sheer agony, refusing to scream. His groans echoed through the vast space and no one moved to rescue him. Surely his parents were standing behind two of the masks in the crowd—this was their home after all._

 _As though touched by a healing hand, his writhing eased his eyes opened to look around himself. Tears of unbridled pain streamed from the corners of both, despite the set of determination in his jaw. With a laborious effort, he pulled himself into a sitting position. Voldemort released his wand and a bemused glee crossed his face. "Turn toward the others, boy, so they can look into your eyes."_

 _One by one, masked terrors came forward and raised their wands to the battered and worn body before them. For his part, Malfoy refused to fall to his face fully, instead hunched on his hands and knees like a wounded animal. His body bled out, shining stains against the black fabric of his suit. Bruises bloomed across his alabaster skin, the muscle underneath swelling and distorting his features. Hermione stared in horror, feeling helpless at her inability to assist him in any way. When the constant torrent of Dark curses ceased, Malfoy took a few shaky breaths and fought to rise, hugging one arm around his ribs and wincing at the tenderness._

" _You've done well, young Malfoy, withstanding your initiation. Come forth," Voldemort beckoned impatiently._

 _Malfoy took another deep breath and the defeat hidden in the depths of his pewter eyes was enough to make Hermione want to hold him, to hold his crumpled and broken pieces together. He turned toward the seated megalomaniac once more and dropped to his knees, clasping his hands on his thighs and bowing his head deeply. "My Lord."_

" _Hold out your arm, child," he hissed and Malfoy removed his suit coat and set it at his knees as he yanked his sleeve up._

 _As he trained his eyes to his own forearm, barely clinging to consciousness, his body seized and clenched in agonizing pain once more, the Mark carving its way into his arm, and blank ink running into the engraving like rivers cascading against the banks. Hermione felt physically sick to her stomach at the reluctance and regret that shined in his eyes just before he fell back against the stone with an echo._

Hermione ripped her head back, leaving the memory abruptly. Her chest heaved as she fought against hyperventilation to take a breath. It was difficult for her to even fathom that the man so desperately vying for her heart now had once suffered such an ordeal. Her hands trembled as she grasped the edge of the desk, knocking the other vials over and spilling out the memory of Fred's Funeral that Ginny had provided, the graphite colored liquid running in a thin stream to the floor.

Grabbing her wand she apparated on the spot, security detail be damned. She landed inside of Malfoy's living room to find a completely still home. "Malfoy?" she called, taking the stairs two at a time to check the bedroom.

She didn't know why she was so irrationally driven to see him, to make sure he was alright—she had viewed a memory, not a premonition. Still, she rasped out, "Draco?" one more time before hearing the crack of apparition downstairs.

"Hermione?" His voice sounded high-pitched, panicked even.

"Draco!"

She met him on the stairs, and he instantly put his hands to her arms, concern and fright distorting his face. "What's the matter? What happened?" he questioned, smoothing a hand over where her hair had begun to spring from her plait.

Her heart, so full of sympathy and mourning for the boy of Malfoy's memory just a moment before, began to thrum violently in her chest. Her cheeks burned hot and she opened her mouth to answer, silenced by the incapability to put into words exactly what she was feeling in the moment. "I-I watched a memory."

Malfoy searched her eyes, trying to make sense of everything. Realization seemed to dawn on his face and he glanced down toward her arm. "I'm sorry you had to see that again. You were so upset last time, but it was an important event. I debated even including it—"

"Not my arm," she replied, placing her hand over where she knew the Dark Mark once marred his flesh in stark black lines.

He furrowed his brow and looked to where she was touching him, confused as to her reaction. "That was a long time ago."

"What they did to you was barbaric!"

"Granger," he spoke slowly, as though she were on the verge of losing her mind, "I did what I had to do to survive. Joining the Dark Lord's ranks was never going to be a walk in the park."

"You didn't want it— I could see the apprehension in your eyes."

Malfoy worked his jaw, mulling over a response to her. "Granger," he began, brushing a stray curl back into the plait, "that was a long time ago. The world was different then, choices and sacrifices had to be made. You only remembered the end of sixth year, but perhaps this insight to a time before that will help you to feel some empathy toward the sorry sod you remember."

Hermione met his troubled gaze, her worry and dismay at the memory subsiding with every strong, steady breath he took. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here. I don't know why I reacted the way I did."

Malfoy still had his hands gently running over her upper arms, trying to soothe her. "I had just arrived at the orphanage when I was alerted to a presence in our home. Would you like to join me?"

Hermione didn't care to go back to the Burrow, to see the tiny vials of char-colored liquid all taunting her with others' terrible realities. She nodded slowly, her own body calming in his presence.

Malfoy grinned wide and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "The children all miss their Miss Minnie. It's just not the same without you these days."

"Minnie? Oh that's terrible." She wrinkled her nose at the nickname.

"They're babies. The names of obscure heroines are a little difficult for them to pronounce."

Hermione laughed her concession, more at ease now. Once they were safely on a flat surface, he apparated them away. They were in a large room, set up to be an area for recreational activities for the children. Children, most no older than eight or nine, were dispersed throughout the room. One young boy, about five-years-old, looked up, a smile stretching across his face as he scrambled to his feet to greet them. "Miss Minnie! We thought you forgot about us!"

Malfoy shot her a guilty look and she shrugged slightly. "No need to burden them with adult troubles."

He relaxed at that and scooped the boy up. "Miss Minnie has been very busy, Maxwell. But she's here now."

"She'll be here for song time!" a girl across the room screeched, running toward them as three sloppily made paper planes followed her.

Malfoy tapped the girl's head and shuffled past her. "Get into position, everyone!" he commanded, watching as the kids all moved into a circle on the colorful mats in the middle of the room. " _Accio, guitar!"_

A guitar drifted over their heads and Malfoy grabbed it as he set Maxwell down and took a seat in the middle of the floor. "Miss Minnie? You joining us?" The smirk on his face was far too pronounced for Hermione's liking.

This was clearly something she'd done in the past, but in this context she was slightly terrified at having to sing in front of anyone. Moseying as slowly as she could get by with, she moved to take her seat in the circle opposite him. With a subtle wink in her direction, he addressed the children once more. "How about ' _All Around the Nargles' Nest?'_ "

The suggestion was met with claps from his audience. Hermione raised a brow and leaned back on her hands, stretching her legs out in front of her as Malfoy made to begin. His fingers worked in a lithe, swift manner and she found herself impressed. That is, until he began to sing. Never had she heard someone so off key in her life.

Malfoy was terrible at this and she found the notion so absurd that she burst into a fit of laughter. He glanced up at her, smiling wide at the mirthful noise just as she tossed her head back with a fresh wave. Gleeful, she dabbed at the corners of her eyes as her laugh become contagious and the children began giggling at her antics. Between bouts of laughter, she murmured broken lines of the song.

"Miss Minnie must have taken some of Weasley's Wheezes laughing potion!" the boy next to her said, looking both intrigued and scandalized by such a concept.

"Let's all raise our voices and show Miss Minnie how good we sound!"

Hermione's laughs quieted to chuckles as she listened to the sweet sound of a dozen little voices all around her. Fascinated at the way Malfoy captivated the tiny hearts of each, it was difficult to tear her eyes away. He looked so at ease interacting with them and she had no doubt that he regularly visited and entertained. It was once again impossible to assimilate this version of Malfoy—one who sings off key and spends time showing children that they aren't forgotten and worthless even though their parents were gone and buried.

After a few songs, the last of which was a soft instrumental melody that evidently signalled quiet time, he laid his guitar on a nearby table top. "Do you want to take a walk with me?"

He looked at her as though he had never seen someone so beautiful, love aflame in the sparkling of his eyes. Hermione felt her heart flutter, her belly tying itself into slippery, tickling knots. "I'd love that."

The children's caretakers began passing around snacks and Malfoy started for the door. As they walked, his hand brushed against the back of hers and she gathered her courage to place her hand within his. Chancing a glance up at him, she saw he had a wide, gorgeous smile on his face and the corners of her own mouth tugged up.

They passed through glass doors and into the gardens where Hermione had spoken to Narcissa and Alya only a few weeks before. Instead of small buds fighting to bloom, the entire space was filled with fragrant and colossal flowers. Butterflies of every shape, size, and color fluttered all around. They swirled in a wide breadth, playing as leaves on a fall breeze. Hermione could hear their gentle flapping, feel their soft wings brushing against her, tickling at her skin.

"This is incredible!" she exclaimed, dropping his hand to spin gleefully, watching as the butterflies flew in graceful circles ever upward, a kaleidoscope of colors.

She decided right then that Narcissa was an absolutely brilliant witch and a gifted gardener. Never in her life had she seen such a sight. The purity of it left her exhilarated, her twirling leaving her breathless. With a gleeful giggle, Hermione stopped to find Malfoy looking at her.

His eyes were full of mirth and he looked at her as though she were the most enchanting thing he had ever seen. His fingertips brushed along his lips, a playful smirk as he sauntered over to her. "Dance with me," he commanded lightly, extending his hand for her to take.

In what was certainly the most romantic moment of her life—at least, as far as she could recollect—when she stepped into him and he pulled her closer by her hip. Even Krum hadn't taken such delicate care, hadn't looked so wholly enamoured, in their brief stint. Malfoy began swaying, his toes knocking against hers. He was a terrible dancer, another surprise to Hermione. He was imperfect, in the most endearing of ways. He dipped his head close to hers, the stubble on his cheek scratching against her pleasantly. "We've Seen this moment before."

"Is that right?" she asked, tucking her hand along the other side of his jaw in an attempt to close the gap between them further. "So what happens now?"

Malfoy pulled back and she already missed his heat against her skin. "You tell me what a terrible dancer I am—"

"You _are_ a terrible dancer, Malfoy."

"-and then you kiss me," he mentioned wickedly, placing his hands on either side of her face and running a thumb over her lips.

The butterflies Hermione felt now had nothing to do with the swarms of the insects around them and everything to do with the nervous excitement flaring up in her belly. Her hand moved around to the nape of his neck to run along the baby-soft hair there and she stood on her tiptoes as she pulled his face to hers.

The moment their lips touched, their magical cores brushed and vibrated palpably around the pair, surrounding them with warmth. The butterflies' flight became nearly frantic as the air quivered with the force of it. Malfoy was the one to deepen the kiss, dropping one hand to her lower back and yanking her to himself, his hand fisting in the fabric of her shirt. Her back arched into him and she dropped from her tiptoes, pulling him down to her level clumsily.

Malfoy chuckled, catching her tightly as she stumbled back a step. He broke the kiss, a puff of breath ghosting over her face. Beaming, he nudged her nose with his and gave a passive shrug. "Not bad...for a first kiss."

Hermione swatted him as she laughed. "We've kissed loads of times before."

"Yes, but this is the one that means the most, isn't it?" he countered. He lowered his lips to capture hers once more, leaving Hermione lightheaded and with the feeling of heavy intoxication.

Merlin, _this_ is what she had been missing?

* * *

o-o-o

 _A/N: Do you hear that? That pterodactyl screech in the distance? That was the sound of me screaming with excitement at being able to write some romance between them again._

 _Thank you, as always, for the love you've shown this story. Please review!_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14:

Hermione was just tying her unruly hair into a knot atop her head when she felt, rather than saw, Malfoy approach. The gentle, relaxed vibrations of his magical core were thrumming from the other side of the door. Snapping her hair band into place, she crossed and placed one hand on the wood, remaining silent so she could simply relish in the feel of him. Placing her forehead against the door, she wondered why he hadn't knocked yet.

Since their time together in the garden, Hermione felt as though a whole kaleidoscope of the butterflies had taken up residency in her belly. Malfoy had occupied her waking thoughts, only the mystery of her attack taking up equal space. It had been a week—one where he had returned to his apprenticeship in France—since their kiss, but she could still feel his hands caressing her cheek, gripping her hips, his tongue running along the seam of her lips. Her bones shimmered with his residual magic and her lips faintly tasted of his and his scent clung to her.

It was certainly easy to see how she had fallen for him once. The physical attraction between them was cosmic.

Finally, after a few moments, Hermione felt the door jiggle slightly, as though he'd been leaning on it before straightening up. A soft rap of his knuckles officially announced his presence and she felt that rapidly familiar whoosh of her belly as her nerves overtook her. What she had planned for the day was certainly risky, but she would be foolish to think that the anxiety she felt was solely because of their impending endeavours.

She opened the door and had to catch herself in the middle of giving him a once over. His all-black attire contrasted tantalizingly with his pale skin and features, making him look tall and lean and fit. When Hermione dragged her eyes back up to meet his, he was smirking knowingly at her and she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. "Good afternoon, Granger. How has your week been?"

"Long," she replied, taking his hand as they descended the stairs. "I'd prefer to floo, if you don't mind. My stomach is in riotous knots."

At the feel of her fingers lacing with his, the smirk blossomed into a wide smile on Malfoy's face. Hermione quite enjoyed the sight, stealing that smile for herself as they headed into a troublesome afternoon. "I have to admit, I'm a little skeptical of your plan," he mentioned, waving through the window to Molly Weasley where she worked to de-gnome the garden.

Hermione worried her lip between her teeth and took a deep breath. "To be honest, I'm not certain it will work at all either. But it's worth the shot—Harry will never give me full access to that file, friends or not."

"And once we've drawn him away from the Ministry? What then? Those files are warded and charmed so that a copy can never be made unless by the creator of said files."

It was Hermione's turn to smirk, though the prickling of uncertainty and defiance lurking just below her skin was a complete contradiction. "We save those memories and watch them in the pensieve until we've read over the files enough to transpose them onto fresh parchment."

Malfoy stared at her for a long moment, something between awe and hesitation crossing his features. "Granger, I'm just going to pretend you aren't dragging me to the Ministry to commit an incarcerable offense."

"Do you always play by the rules then?"

"Don't you remember me constantly trying to get the three of you into trouble any way I could? I'm definitely something of a rule-abider. Most of the time. Especially if I'm looking down a cold, dank cell in Azkaban."

"Oh, pish-tosh!" she waved his worries away. "We won't be caught."

Malfoy stared at her, clearly weighing his options before he shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. "Fine. But I have a small request."

Hermione grabbed a handful of floo powder from a basket on the Weasley's mantle. "What's that?"

She could tell he was reluctant to come right out with it, instead trying to formulate a diplomatic way of saying what was on his mind. She lowered her head and looked up at his eyes before he looked up and they stood staring as the silence drew longer between them. Biting the inside of his cheek before blowing out a forceful exhale, he rubbed the back of his neck. "I would like for us to show my father all of our findings."

Taken aback, Hermione allowed some of the floo powder to slip between her fingers without her notice. "Your father?"

"Well...I haven't spoken to him myself. But Mother believes that my father may be able to shed some light on _Delensura_ , if nothing else. And as much as I hate to admit it, with only the loved ones of purebloods and ex-Death Eaters being attacked, my pureblood, ex-Death Eater father may hold knowledge that would take us months of research to find."

The two stood stark still, shimmery green floo powder filtering like grains of sand between them, straight onto the Weasley's floor. Hermione had no desire to face Lucius Malfoy once more, but he had been mostly cordial the last time they'd had reason to interact. No matter the past, he was Draco's father, and if she wanted any kind of a future with him, she would have to take his parents as well. And, for his part, Lucius had backed off of his son and silently accepted their courtship. Hermione nodded slowly. "I think that's probably not a bad idea."

"And don't worry. Azkaban is the last place my father ever wants to be again, so he won't draw attention to the fact that we're breaking about ten different laws to do this."

"Where is your sense of adventure, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, waving her wand at the powder that had absently trickled from her hand.

"I'll take it Potter doesn't know we're headed there today? You're guards are enjoying the sunshine with Molly instead of circling us."

"I've been leaving them behind some. Mostly when I visit you. It's positively suffocating to have those two buffoons follow me wherever I go."

Malfoy opened his mouth to argue and Hermione placed a single finger over his bottom lip. "I can't exactly bring them along today, can I? We'll have to take a leaf out of Moody's book and use constant vigilance."

His hand circled her wrist as he drew her finger away from his mouth. "Granger, you have a detail for a reason. You're taking too many chances."

"I'll make sure to have them watch my every move again. Starting tomorrow. Now can we stop wasting time? We don't have much."

Malfoy pursed his lips, still miffed that she was stiffing her guard detail, but he said no more. Instead he waved her into the fireplace. "After you then."

Calmly stating the address of Malfoy's home—their home—she stepped out into the living room. He was quick to follow, rubbing soot and powder from his clothing. "The window from the bedroom will provide the best view."

He led her up to the room they once shared and pulled back the curtain a hairsbreadth. "Augustine usually goes in about this time. Cleans up and tends the birds. It'll be a couple of hours before it opens to patrons again for afternoon deliveries."

Hermione nodded, sitting back on the bed as he continued to peek at the owlery entrance down High Street. She took this time to peer around the room, taking in little details as she did. It was pristinely kept and she noted that he'd made the bed with a new quilt of yellow squares and rings of bright blue forget-me-nots. She knew it was likely for her benefit, if and when she decided to return. Quaint touches around the room were definitely her style, but little bits of his personality popped out. He had a tall wardrobe, an impressive collection of watches all glimmering from the shelves within. The banisters of the bed had intricately carved snakes weaving their way through grape vines. The home smelled of parchment and the earth after a cleansing rain, a scent she was quickly learning to associate with him.

"There, he's going in now. It shouldn't be too long before he leaves," Malfoy's voice broke her from her mindful snooping. "Did you bring the photo?"

Hermione reached within her beaded bag and withdrew a polaroid. On it, she had feigned a different handwriting by using large block letters. " _Another day, another girl."_ It was a photo of the entrance to the London Underground at Heathrow Airport. Technically, it was a photo of a photo found in _The Wizard's Guide to Muggle Travel in London_ , though she thought she'd done a pretty good job of making it look believable.

Upon seeing the feigned picture, her stomach flopped pitifully and she began to question whether her crazy idea would work. She wasn't one to sit idly by as crises reigned, but without this plot, she had no idea what else she could do. Harry was being far too evasive and not at all forthcoming with new information and there was no one else they could possibly interview.

Malfoy took the photo from her and raised a brow. "Not bad. Should pass for original."

She looked past him at a photo on the nightstand. She and Draco appeared to be on a date in Muggle London. Dressed like Audrey Hepburn, she was beautiful. But it was her smile that made her breath hitch. Her smile stretched clear across her face and she looked as though there were nothing that could ever shake her faith in the man next to her.

"We went out on the Thames and watched a muggle film," Draco mentioned, stepping in behind her and placing a tentative hand on her hip. "You looked positively stunning that night. It took every ounce of self control I had not to take us too far."

 _The pink vials._ She still hadn't plucked up the courage to watch the intimate scenes between them. A thrill went through her at his words, a wanton feeling she dared never act upon. "And how about now?" she questioned, placing a hand over his cautiously.

Malfoy swallowed hard next to her, his fingertips pressing slightly harder. "You know I think you're gorgeous. But not yet. Come to the vineyard with me for Mabon in a couple of weeks, and we can do as much or as little as you'd like."

Hermione turned and he dropped his hand from her waist. She leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. He brought his hands to rest along her jaw, his thumbs running over her cheeks as he tapped a few kisses to her lips, then mouth. "I can see why I fell in love with you."

Malfoy's mouth turned up in a lopsided grin that scrambled her brain momentarily. "There will be plenty of time for kissing later," he told her, placing a kiss to her forehead, "but for now, we are on the lookout, little witch."

With a long-suffering sigh, she retrieved the photograph from the bed and plopped down on the end. "For the first time in my life, I'm hoping that Lucius Malfoy will have all the answers. If you would have told me this three years ago, I would have laughed in your face."

"Or punched me in the face," he grimaced, touching the bridge of his nose.

She laughed lightly and he shot her a sideways glance, his lips fighting a smile. He peered out of the curtain and tossed his hand over his shoulder, beckoning her forth. "He's leaving already. We need to get over there and quick."

Hermione's heart started battering her ribcage as she stood, watching the toad-like man hobble away from the owlery. "Come on. _Come on!_ " she whispered, taking his hand and pulling him along behind her.

They raced out of the house and Hermione Disillusioned them as they jogged down the stone path leading out. The streets were sparsely populated, and they were under magical cover, but she couldn't help but feel as though they were being watched. The paranoia that settled deep in her bones after her attack was unbearable but she knew she needed to act courageously.

They arrived at the window, which rested six inches from the top of Malfoy's head. He cupped his hands, creating a ladder step for her. Hermione placed her foot into his hands and he bounced her twice until she pulled herself halfway through the window. She shimmied into the space and the owls created an uproar, hooting for treats. Malfoy jumped from the window and landed next to her, bird feathers fluffing up around his feet. "Pick one that's non-descript."

Hermione went to the smallest little barn owl, sitting on her perch with her eyes closed. "Girl, I need you to bring this to Harry Potter at the Ministry of Magic. But I need you to circle London three times _before_ you deliver it."

With that, she tied the photograph to the owl's leg and the little bird gave a hoot of understanding. She nipped at Hermione's hand, looking for treats. After receiving a couple from Malfoy's outstretched hand, she hopped merrily toward the window, stretching her wings before taking off in flight.

Hermione's heart felt as though it would follow the little tawny owl, it thrummed so quickly. They heard the door jiggle, the sound of a key being fitted into the lock, and Malfoy grabbed her upper arm. "We've got to go."

He spun them and they landed in an alleyway not far from the telephone booth that would lead them to the Ministry. They stepped out from the confines of the alley, with Malfoy smoothing his hair back into place as he looked both ways, constant vigilance at the forefront of his actions. He walked slightly behind her, guarding her back.

Hermione stepped into the booth and lifted the telephone to her ear. Malfoy crowded in behind her, keeping a suspicious eye all around them as she dialed _62442._ The paranoia he was feeling was nearly palpable as the telephone booth shook to life and they descended into the Ministry. "Can you calm down," she chided quietly under her breath, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. "You look like you're up to no good, peering all around like we're being tailed."

"I cannot believe I let you talk me into this," he returned, his teeth grinding as he made a visible effort to calm himself. "If we're caught, I am going straight to Azkaban."

"Do you really think Harry would put you into Azkaban?"

" _We're interfering with an investigation!"_

Hermione's eyes widened as she gave him a look that very clearly screamed, _keep your voice down!_ They rode in the lift and walked the rest of the way in silence, and the beating of her own heart was filling her ears with a steady _whoosh, whoosh, whoosh_ that refused to calm her. "I thought you would do anything for me?" she tried to tease, though it sounded hollow, even to her.

"I would, and I will. That doesn't mean I look forward to going back to prison." As he said it, he wrapped his hand around hers, lacing their fingers purposefully.

She raised her hand to knock just as Harry waved the door open. "I thought you'd both be coming around."

Malfoy stepped in front of her for the first time since they'd left the townhouse. "You're damn right we're 'coming around.' I think the question here is, why haven't you been to visit and discuss the death of your only lead?"

Harry sat back in his chair and removed his glasses so that he could rub his palms against his eyes. When he replaced his glasses with a sigh, he gestured toward the two chairs at his desk. The door slammed shut behind them, causing Hermione to start as she sat. Malfoy remained standing, leaning his hands on the back of her chair. He was close enough that she could feel the front of his shirt tickling her curls with each breath he took. "So?" he prompted.

"I can't say much because, quite frankly, we don't _know_ much. Minuet's death came as a crushing blow to our case," Harry admitted, and Hermione noticed the dark shadows under his eyes, the slight shaking of his hand a clear indicator of his exhaustion. "I can assure you, Malfoy, we are working around the clock to find out any little tidbit of information that might lead to an arrest."

Malfoy seemed to buckle slightly behind her head, as she felt his weight closer to her, his tufts of warm breath washing over her crown. "We need _Delensura_."

Harry narrowed his eyes and leaned on the desk, twirling his wand between his fingers absently. "And why is that? That book may very well hold the key to _how_ these attacks are being carried out."

"It may also hold the key to retrieving Granger's memories. And Lovegood's," Malfoy countered. "My father wants to inspect it, see if he can figure out _why_ it is important."

"You want me to put a Dark book into the hands of a known Dark wizard?" Harry stared at him incredulously. "I know he's your father, Malfoy, but let's be realistic here. Do you think the Ministry would go for this? I'd lose my job."

Hermione shifted in her seat, cracking her knuckles as her eyes roved around the room, searching for the files in question. The owl should be arriving any moment. "Harry, this may be my only chance at _remembering_. And _technically_ the book isn't evidence, since the only thing we have pointing to its importance is a vision I had."

Harry dropped his head into his hands, combing his fingers through his thick raven tresses. "I cannot release the book to you—"

"Harry—"

"-however, I will accompany the book to the villa in France. Myself and Ron. So that we can oversee your father's use and interactions with the book."

A smile broke across Hermione's face as there was a tapping at Harry's door. "I'll take it! Thank you, Harry! You don't know how much this means to me."

The door opened with a wave of Harry's wand and a tawny owl flew in. "You know you're like my sister, Hermione. It hurts me to see you going through this, but I'm sure you understand that I can only bend the rules but so much. This isn't Hogwarts anymore." He retrieved the photo from the owl and gave her a pat to the head. "Post isn't typically delivered straight to- _SON OF A BITCH!"_

Hermione jumped with his outburst and Malfoy came around her, snatching the photo from Harry's grasp. "' _Another day, another girl'?_ Where in the bloody hell was this taken?"

Hermione stood and peered over his arm. "That's at the airport. Harry, you don't think there's a body—"

Harry stood and grabbed his cloak, swinging it on in one fell swoop. "I will be past this evening with the book. You two can see yourselves out, right?"

They didn't even get to respond before Harry was gone, his door slamming shut behind him. Hermione turned to Malfoy, smiling mischievously. He returned her smile with an anxious bite of his lip as he glanced around, eyeing stacks of paperwork. "We need to hurry."

o-o-o

 _ **A/N: Special thanks to Bailey4047 for looking over this for me. It took me a loooong time to write.**_

 _ **Please review, as always. I love feedback!**_


	15. Author's Note

**This is an a/n only. I will delete this once I get some feedback. Please be brutally honest-I have already had multiple people say they didn't care for the way I took this It doesn't hurt my feelings, but I would really love to hear from you. You can go guest if you want.**

I'm going to be perfectly honest with you all. I hate this story. I absolutely hate it. Opening a new chapter to write literally makes me cringe. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of an obliviation story to follow Pariah to begin with. And since I began writing this, I have changed the outline four times. I've changed the attacker three times. I'm still not satisfied and I have 15 to 18 chapters left to write and i am at a loss on how to improve it in a way I can be proud of. But, I _can_ push through if it is what you all really want.

So I'd like to ask which you'd prefer. I have three options.

Are you hooked on this completely? Do you really need to know who the attacker is?

-or-

I have actually developed an alternate third part. I can delete this version (the other part would not have the same title, and I could make what is complete on here and my notes for where this progresses available to those who want to retain a copy) and upload the new one as I write. The new version is called "Love Is All Divine." The attack from Pariah's last chapter would be deleted and a completely new story line would ensue. This new story would include: the prophecy being about someone other than Dramione, Hermione and Draco being a solid unit who navigates the post war world in France, Hermione and Lucius getting close, Hermione and Bill Weasley saving Narcissa's life, the vineyard recognizing Hermione as the new Mistress of the villa, Narcissa passing down ancient wisdom to Hermione, ancient magic, a wedding in the vineyard, Draco being a badass Potioneer, and Hermione apprenticing to Bill Weasley. Among other things. I feel like this story would feel more like a continuance of Pariah, rather than having an abruption of the storyline to create a brand new story altogether.

-or-

I can power through the rest of this the best I can, and then write the new one as well and have them be a "you pick your ending" type of deal.

I didn't post this to sound whiny, but I am in a dilemma right now and I would love to hear your vote!


	16. My Decision, and the Reveal

**_Another Author's Note. This story is officially abandoned the first of April, 2020._**

Okay. I heard from 88 lovely individuals and all of you were really encouraging. I was so afraid to let you down again but I wanted to be honest because I felt I was not putting out quality work. And I really felt an outpouring of love, so I can't thank you enough for that.

 **What I have decided to do is to stop working on this**. **I will write the new story as a third part to Pariah instead** -never fear, I've already figured out how to tie the foreshadowing into the new one. Give me a little time because I need a mental break from this for a bit, but I'll begin the new story soon enough. Oh...and I didn't say there wouldn't be some heartbreak in the new one, just that Draco and Hermione would be safe. ;)

A lot of people asked to know who the attacker was. So allow me to give you **a synopsis of what would have been the next 18 chapters** :

-Harry was withholding information from Hermione, which she discovered in his files on the case. They have picked up bits and pieces from Luna's tattered mind showing Gregory Goyle attacking her. BUT, his eyes are glazed over and he is clearly imperiused. Oh, and Minuet isn't actually dead, he'd only been hurt.

-They bring _Delensura_ to Lucius, who studies it over and realizes there's a spell on it that hides some of the book's contents. A blood ward of sorts. He breaks it and sees how the attacker managed to tailor the attacks to each witch. Lucius says that if she is able to See events of the past, than her memory isn't taken, only locked away. Narcissa is listening to this all, twisting her wedding bands nervously. Hermione has a glimmer of a memory of the ring Draco gives her and she asks him where it's at because she just has this _feeling_. Lucius vows to create a reverse ritual.

-Draco and Hermione go to search for the ring and when he says _accio,_ he can hear the ring struggling to break free of the bag he tossed behind his couch when returning home from the hospital after her attack. He retrieves the bag he'd forgotten about and finds her broken srcying mirror in it. Hermione can See images, the same one, on all of the shards. The mirror captures Draco falling and Hermione turning to look. Only the attackers shoes are visible when Draco hits the ground.

-Lucius has researched and found a ritual to bring Hermione's memories back. Harry, Ron, and Healer Holcomb witness it. She remains in a coma for a while and Draco agonizes. Again. He fights Lucius, thinking he did something to her when she rouses, with a headache but unscathed. Her memories are slowly returning instead of flooding back all at once, but they are there.

-The Malfoys go to party on Mabon and leave Draco and Hermione at the villa in France. Draco takes her for a ride in a hot air balloon because they'd watched the clouds and now he wanted her to know what it was like to be in them, without a threat. They have sex. The papers speak of her recovery.

-Astoria goes missing and Goyle is arrested. But there are huge parts of his memories missing when they use legilimency on him. He only says that he needs to visit a floral shop to get some lavender for a wedding. Draco realizes the shoes in the mirror were Blaise's and recalls the conversation where Blaise says he was sick of dwelling in the shadows of darkness. He wanted to make a name for himself. So this whole time he's been using Goyle to do his dirty work, except with Hermione and Draco. That was personal.

-Goyle is released since there's no evidence to actually keep him and is promptly murdered. Draco and Hermione show Harry the mirror and he say they can't make an arrest only on a Seer's suspicions. So Hermione laments to Narcissa that Blaise will get away with it some more. Narcissa comes up with the plan to have a fake wedding and lure him there.

-They See Blaise threatening a florist to deliver only the lavender from his private gardens. Which was a new variety he'd made himself that causes eternal sleep.

-At the fake wedding, the florist didn't exchange the lavender and Minuet is there photographing. Blaise is confused by both and is getting antsy. Hermione leans in at the altar and Draco whispers, "Now," and Hermione announces that Blaise is the guest of honor. She enlarges the broken Scrying mirror (they'd pieced it together) and asks it to reveal Blaise's secret. Everyone sees Blaise attack them. Blaise snaps and tries to burn the whole place down with fiendfyre. He's arrested.

-The epilogue is Theo and Draco burning down the manor before the real wedding.

The new version of Damned will NOT end this way. It will not have the same storyline or motivations. It's totally separate from it.

Anyway, thank you for all of your feedback. I'm sorry if you only read completed works but came along on this because you saw the first two parts were complete. But I literally can't force this story anymore. It's terrible and my writing is suffering because of it.


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